


Bound To You

by Chipper99



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Healing, Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Bonding, Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural), Consensual Possession, Disabled Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Paralysis, Possession, Prayer, Praying Dean Winchester, Praying Sam Winchester, Praying to Castiel (Supernatural), Research, Researching Castiel (Supernatural), Researching Dean Winchester, Researching Sam Winchester, Slow Burn, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, The Empty (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 128,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chipper99/pseuds/Chipper99
Summary: Dean should be scared. The being in front of him was terrifying by all means and yet for some reason, as he stared into the creature’s eyes, Dean felt a warm sense of comfort wash over him. Because those dazzling, glowing blue eyes were so familiar, the pain in its eyes mirrored with Dean’s. Which is why, when it reached out one long, dripping black hand out to him, Dean reached out, too.Dean didn’t know if it could talk. It didn’t need to, anyway. Dean knew what it was asking, and he answered the silent request without a second thought.“Yes.”* * *Faced with death, Dean makes one last ditch effort; praying to an Angel he knows wont hear him. Deans prayers are answered when a vessel-less Castiel forces himself out from the Empty, taking possession of Dean's body in order to heal him.Castiel's grace is running finite however, charged down after saving Dean's life. Now Castiel resides within Dean's mind, too weak to survive a transfer to another vessel, leading them to a desperate search for a way to rebuild his body. Time is of the essence, with Castiel's grace burning out with every passing day...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 206
Kudos: 481
Collections: Angel’s Supernatural favorites





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now, I'm more of a 'one-shot- kind of person when it comes to my destiel fics (for writing, anyway), but the idea for this fic popped into my head at work (yes, I am that bored at work) and as more and more scenes began forming in my head, the sooner I realized this was going to be a multi-chapter fic instead.
> 
> I tried to write out these chapters sort of in a way as if it were scenes in the show, shifting characters perspective and changing to new events. I hope it still flows well, and that it's laid out in a way you can almost picture the scenes being acted out as they would be in the show.
> 
> Chapter Song - 'Trainwreck' by James Arthur
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=W1UNDLRsF8M

Laying in the silence,

Waiting for the sirens,  
Signs, any signs I'm alive still,  
I don't wanna lose it,  
I'm not getting through this,  
Hey, should I pray? should I pray,  
To myself? To a God?  
To a saviour who can,

Unbreak the broken,  
Unsay these spoken words,  
Find hope in the hopeless,  
Pull me out of the train wreck

-' ** _Trainwreck' by James Arthur_**

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

It was in his heart.

Dean knew it the second that dumbass mime looking Vamp shoved him into the post. That awful sharp, burning, pinching sensation of something sliding into his flesh. If the Vamp didn’t finish him off there and then, he’d be gone not long after anyway. There was no way to patch this up. No way to keep him alive until the paramedics arrived - even in the off-chance Sammy got any signal out here in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and called an ambulance.

He was going to die.

 _Fuck._ He was going to die.

And that scared him.

There’s a flash of silver in front of him, Sam’s machete sliding effortlessly through the Vamp’s neck in one clean cut. Dean flinches instinctively away from the spray of blood, the last few spurts of blood gushing from its neck, the last of the creature’s heartbeats as the signals are cut. Its head slides off, seconds before the lifeless body collapses to the ground in a heap.

Sam’s talking to him. Going through the next steps of action to get the civvies out of here. ‘He doesn’t realize’, Dean thinks to himself. He didn’t see it, did he? Sam thinks he’s standing by this post of his own volition.

God, how he wished that was the case.

“There’s…. there’s something… in my back.”

His arms feel impossibly heavy as he lifts them, gesturing with his thumb to his back. Sam still looked confused – not that he could blame him. Dean could already tell that rebar was so far in his back that none of it was visible.

Sam shuffled towards him almost cautiously, shooting Dean a look close to denial as he placed his hand on Dean’s back. Dean inhaled shakily as the pain blossomed from the contact, barely resisting the urge to shove his little brother’s hand away. If he had the strength left to do that, that is…

Dean could see the moment it all sunk in on Sam’s face. As he pulled his hand away from Dean, confirming that the all too familiar warm, thick wetness he felt coating Dean’s back was what he knew it to be. The crimson redness of it glared back at him, his brother's blood spread across his hand and spilling from Dean’s body with every passing second.

“Wait here,” Sam instructed him, his voice already beginning to shake. Dean would have laughed if the pain wasn’t so horrific. It wasn’t like he could _go_ anywhere. “I’m… I’m gonna go get the medkit-,”

“ _Sam-,”_ The raw panic in his big brother’s voice brought Sam to a grinding halt. His _big_ brother, the man who’s stood by his side ready to take on _anything_ that was thrown at them… sounded scared.

And that scared him more than anything else.

“Sam, I don’t – I don’t wanna be alone. Please, just… please stay.”

Sam didn’t think of the damage it must have inflicted on him. Didn’t think of where the rebar was, of what vital organs it had surely ripped apart. He just… he needed to stop the bleeding. He needed the first aid kid, he needed to call an ambulance, get his brother to the hospital, let the Doctors save his life. He needed… he needed to do _something._

“I’ll be right back,” Sam assured him, a bit more confident this time. “I promise, Dean. You’re gonna be fine, I won’t… I _won’t_ let you die. _Not_ like this.”

“Sammy-,” Dean tried calling out for him, but Sam was already halfway out the barn doors, flinging them open so harshly that they clattered together when they swung back. Dean dropped his head back into the post with a harsh ‘thud’. He knew by the sound that the contact should have made his head hurt, but there’s nothing. All he can focus on is the feel of the nail sat snugly in his chest. Feel his heart struggle as it tries to beat around the piece of metal pierced through its chambers, feel the beginning of a wheeze as blood begins to pool in his lungs.

He didn’t have long.

In the back of his mind, he realizes he can’t feel his legs.

“Sammy?” Dean tries desperately to call out again. His voice is weak and harsh, much too quiet to be heard past those heavy barn doors. The attempt sends him into a fit of wheezes and coughs, and he feels a thick layer of blood sneak up his windpipe and into his mouth, spitting it out into the ground with a pained grimace.

He didn’t wanna die alone. He’s died many times before, countless times if you counted all the ‘experiments’ with Gabriel… but in all of them, he was never alone. Sammy was always there, his last source of comfort as the last of his life ebbed away. A familiar, comforting face. His little brother, whilst understandably distressed, _alive._ Sammy was still alive - in every time he’s died - and that helped him to go peacefully. To know he had at least died doing his job right; Keeping Sammy safe.

Now there was no one. He was fading away now, the blackness starting to creep into the corner of his vision, slowly creeping in with every passing second, with every fading heartbeat. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be _alone._

“Cas?” The name slips from his tongue without his permission. Dean grimaces again with the effort, placing a hand over his chest where he knows the rebar sits just beneath the skin, through the cracked ribs underneath. “I know… I know you’re gone… I know where you were taken, but… I’m gonna pretend you can hear me, okay? I hope you can hear me…”

The following set of coughs set his lungs ablaze. More blood pushes its way up his throat, gritted teeth stained with red. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so _fucking_ sorry. You gave yourself up for me, let yourself be taken just so I could have a chance and… I messed it up. I _said_ we were gonna make your sacrifice _mean_ something, and now… I’m… I’m dying, Cas.”

It was getting harder to talk now. His mind felt fuzzy and his body felt heavy. He wanted to sink into that darkness, let himself be taken by the tidal wave of drowsiness washing over him, and just… rest. He didn’t do that, though. Instead, he fought.

“I wish you were here,” Dean admitted to the empty barn. “Maybe that’s cruel of me to say; To want you here, just so you can watch me die. It’s… I wish I could’a said goodbye to you right, Cas. To tell you… tell you all the things you deserved to hear, just like you did for me… But you’re gone and now… now Sammy’s gone and I… I don’t wanna die alone, Cas. I don’t wanna die alone. I… I don’t wanna die.”

Saying it out loud seemed to make it sink in even harder. A tear from his blurred vision spills over, slipping down his face and dropping to the ground where it mixed with the pool of blood that had formed on the ground, the flow from his back growing steadily slower.

“Cas… I don’t wanna die… _Please,_ Cas… I… I don’t… I don’t want to die…”

Something was shifting out of the corner of his eye. The blackness of his vision had changed, taking shape; a writhing, inky, gooey sludge that was steadily growing. Except… except that wasn’t his vision…

It seemed to have formed in mid-air, no more than five feet in front of him. He had only seen it once, and it had been from one of the worst memories of his life. He was already scared of dying before, but the sight in front of him gripped his dying heart in a vice-like grip of dread. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him _after._ If he’d somehow gained enough good karma to secure a place in Heaven, or if he were heading back down to Hell…

That’s when Billie’s words came back to him.

‘Come along now, Dean. It’s time. The Empty… It’s waiting.’

He knew Billie was dead. Cas made sure of it, his last act on this Earth. Yet, the proof was in front of him. He wasn’t going to Heaven _or_ Hell. Whatever Reaper that came to reap him was going to toss him into the Empty, just as Billie promised she would. _The Empty._ That place of nothingness.

“No…”

It wasn’t fair. _None_ of this was fair. After _everything…_ this is what he gets? Eternity in _nothingness?_ At least even in Hell, he _knew_ what was waiting for him down there - even if he’s lucky and Rowena decides to take pity on him… But the Empty? That was unknown territory. Cas didn’t talk much about his time there - and for good reason. It sounded… _awful_.

He supposed the only saving grace was that maybe, just maybe, he’d get to see Cas again.

Dean was barely able to hold his head up now, feeling his consciousness slipping away. Something deep inside the darkness shifts and, to Dean’s horror, _steps_ out from the portal. No doubt about it, it was a leg. This tall, menacing form was pulling itself out from the blackness behind it, looking almost pained, struggling to free itself from whatever material the Empty was made of. Whatever was trying to get out - The Empty wasn’t happy about it escaping.

If his heart wasn’t already about to give out, it probably would have anyway at the sight of the creature once it had finally pulled itself free. It must have been eight feet tall, maybe nine. The dark slime-like substance of the Empty was oozing off the form – or was it _made_ of the slime? Two massive appendages began to sprout from the beings back, unfurling agonizing slowly. They were… they were _wings._ Dean could just about make out the tattered feathers, sparse and few in between and absolutely _coated_ in the tar-like substance. It… it kind of reminded Dean of that nature documentary Cas made them sit down and watch, the one with the impacts of oil spills on nature. Those seagulls covered in oil, their wings… broken and ruined.

Dean _should_ be scared. The being in front of him was terrifying by all means and yet for some reason, as he stared into the creature’s eyes, Dean felt a warm sense of comfort wash over him. Because those dazzling, glowing blue eyes were _so_ familiar, the pain in its eyes mirrored with Dean’s. Which is why, when it reached out one long, dripping black hand out to him, Dean reached out, too.

Dean didn’t know if it could talk. It didn’t need to, anyway. Dean knew what it was asking, and he answered the silent request without a second thought.

“Yes.”

The world around him flares white. Dean closes his eyes reflexively against the blinding light and then…

There’s nothing.

Nothing but a soothing, deep voice that Dean never thought he’d get the privilege to hear again.

_‘Rest, Dean… I have you.’_

Dean listens.

Finally… he rests.

* * *

Castiel awakens, seeing the world through a pair of forest green eyes. They blink wearily, glancing around his new surroundings. Bodies laid at his feet, all with their heads sliced clean off and resting close by their respective corpse, lying in pools of their own blood. Odd, colorful masks were haphazardly places across their faces, no doubt having shifted during their owner’s decapitation. The wooden panels of the barn that surrounded him were creaking in the evening's chill, groaning low as its foundations are tested. A nest, it would seem. Another hunt, perhaps? Though, one that had clearly gone wrong.

That’s when the pain of the rebar through ~~his~~ _Dean’s_ chest hits him.

He shouldn’t even be able to feel it, yet he does. It’s enough for him to gasp out at the sensation in a ragged voice that’s not his, yet not quite Dean’s either. It’s deep and rough, but not as grating as his own voice. It does more damage than good, and he begins hacking up a mouthful of Dean’s blood, something he knows full well he can’t be wasting.

His grace was twisting painfully inside him, a flickering, pulsating wisp of energy that was already desperately reaching out to the damage it sensed within Dean. Cas holds his grace back, knowing it would be pointless to heal Dean whilst a piece of metal was still skewered through him. With an exhausted grunt, Castiel reaches out to the pole behind him, placing his palms down on the support beam he was leant against. His teeth are gritted, grinding harshly together as he prepares himself for the agonizing pain this next move would make. Castiel lets Dean’s eyes flutter shut, sucking in a deep breath of air that makes his functioning lung rattle and his deflating lung collapse even further.

The scream that rips through him as he pulls himself off that rebar almost doesn’t sound human. How Dean had coped with this pain, he has no clue. There’s no relief as the last of the metal exits Dean’s body, only a disgusting squelch of muscle and flesh. To Cas’s surprise, Dean’s legs do not hold him when he stands. He crumples to the floor in a heap, knocking the wind out of him completely. It seemed the rebar itself was the only thing keeping Dean upright…

Castiel didn’t have time to focus on that now. Dean was just about on the edge of life and death, holding on for longer than most would. If he didn’t hurry, there would be a reaper standing by his side in just a few seconds.

Castiel gathered up as much of his grace as he could, pulling it all together. It eagerly followed his command, desperate to heal the broken man that had provided them with shelter. Even now, holding all of his grace within himself, he knew…

It wouldn’t be enough to heal him completely. But maybe, just maybe… it would buy him time. It would keep Dean alive.

And that’s all that mattered.

* * *

Sam practically ended up skidding into the Impala as he brought himself to a stop, chest heaving with the exertion of sprinting to the car as fast as his legs would carry him. His hands shake uncontrollably as he shoves the keys into her trunk lock, the warm wetness of Dean’s blood coating his hand glinting at him in the moonlight.

The medkit was sat neatly where it always is, placed for easy access in emergencies like these. Injuries were often in their line of work, after all. He snatches the green box hurriedly from within the clutter in Baby’s trunk, slamming it closed so hard he can already hear Dean bitching at him from here.

He freezes at the sight of Dean’s blood smeared across the surface of the medkit, standing out against the unnaturally green plastic, staining the white cross atop its lid a startlingly bright red.

What was he even planning to do? He could handle a gunshot, a knife wound… but… how could he fix _this_?

He needed more than to just ‘ _do something’._ He needed…

He needed a miracle.

“Jack? Jack, I… I know you said you weren’t going to be hands-on. I get that, but… It’s Dean. He’s hurt, he’s…” Sam’s voice gives out, thick with tears that were threatening to spill over. “He’s dying, Jack, and I don’t know what to do… _Please_ , if you can hear me, I need your help. _Please._ ”

The howling wind of the night is all that responds to his prayer. Sam searches around in the darkness, hoping to see Jack’s smiling figure appear somewhere nearby with a wave of his hand.

There’s nothing.

He wants to get angry. He wants to punch and kick at something, scream up to the sky about how unfair this all was. He doesn’t do any of those things, though. The fear had him in a hold too tight to do much else than shake and silently weep at the thought he was going to be alone. In the span of two weeks, his entire family was gone; A boy who was practically one of his kids, his best friend, the one person he thought he’d finally get to settle down with, and now… the universe had to take his brother away, too?

His grip on the medkit is so strong that his knuckles had turned a milky white with the force. Sam stares down blankly at his own hands as he shuffles back through the barn doors, already thinking about how he’s going to have to find a way to get the civvies out of here and come back to… to bring Dean’s body home.

When he tears his gaze away from the supplies in his hands, he can only stare in utter confusion at the empty space where his brother _used_ to be, the rebar that had gone through his back still dripping with Dean’s blood. Sam’s eyes drop down, landing on the sight of his brother's crumpled form on the floor.

“Dean!” Sam exclaims, rushing to Dean’s side and dropping down hard on his knees next to him. The medkit is discarded to the side as he quickly shoves his fingers down Dean’s collar, pressing them into his throat.

Somehow, he feels a pulse flutter against his fingertips. It was weak, so soft he could almost have imagined it, but it was _there._ Dean was still _alive._

“Oh my God…” Sam mutters in disbelief, feeling a spike of adrenaline go through his body at the realization. He quickly grabs hold of his brother's shoulders, gently turning him over onto his front to get a look at the damage to his back.

There was… there was _light._

He could see it flaring deep inside the hole running through Dean’s back. The light was flickering and fading, a strange mixture of blue and white that Sam knows he’s seen before. Right before his eyes, Sam could see Dean’s body knitting itself back together. It was painfully slow, and the glowing light inside Dean was flickering and fading the more Dean’s back was being stitched together. Dean was… he was _healing_.

The light gave one last pathetic flicker before going still, fading away into nothingness with a few blinks. To Sam’s horror, the hole in his brother's back still remained. No longer as deep as it once was, but with a slow stream of blood still oozing out. Sam let the medical side of his mind take over, pulling the medkit open and yanking out the gauze still in its plastic wrapping. He ripped the plastic off, pulling open the lid of the disinfectant with his teeth before soaking the gauze in it and pressing it over the wound.

His fingers fumbled around for the pack of suture needles and the roll of surgical thread, trembling hands struggling to push the thread through the infuriatingly small hole of the needle. He peels the gauze away from Dean’s back, wincing at the suction of the blood keeping it stuck to his skin.

Sam makes quick work of the stitches, pulling the wound tight as close as he can and snipping away the ends of the thread with the kit's small pair of scissors.

“Okay…” He mumbles down to his brother's unconscious form, sliding his arms underneath his body and pulling him into his chest. “Okay, Dean… I’m gonna get you out of here…”

Sam grunts with the effort of placing his brother into a fireman’s hold, the extra weight making him stumble around as he gets to his feet, the adrenaline pumping through his body likely the only reason he’s still going.

“Okay… Okay, okay… Can’t call an ambulance… Too many bodies, no reception on my cell…” Sam looks wildly around at the chaos they had left behind. “Okay… just… just going to have to get you in the car… get you to a hospital… come back for the others once you’re safe…”

Sam’s feet are already dragging him towards the Impala before he has time to finish his thoughts. He pulls her keys out from his pocket with his free hand, the other resting securely across Dean’s back to keep him in place, careful not to touch the entrance to the wound. He unlocks her doors, swinging open the back door and meticulously placing Dean down across the back seats, making sure he’s resting on his front to avoid any further damage to his injury. And, with some luck, gravity will help to slow down the bleeding…

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam promised him, even though Dean couldn’t hear his words. They were more for him, really.

He swung the door closed, racing around to the front of the Impala and throwing himself into the driving seat. The keys were shoved into the ignition, twisting them harshly until the Impala’s engine roared to life. Sam quickly threw the gear into drive, releasing the handbrake and slamming his foot down on the gas pedal. The Impalas wheels screeched against the dirt, throwing up rocks and other debris behind them as she lurched forward.

The dirt quickly shifted to tarmac, the sickly yellow glow of the highway lights passing by in a blur. Sam found his gaze frequently lifting to the rear-view mirror, looking for his brother. Making sure he could see his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

Looking for any sign it wasn’t too late.

“Just hang on a little more, Dean. Please, for me, just… hang on.”

* * *

The Impalas tires squealed against the tarmac as Sam stepped on the brakes, swinging her in front of the hospital's entrance. He was probably breaking a few driving laws parking here - and had likely broken a few more on the way over - but quite frankly, he couldn’t care less.

“Help me!” Sam yelled to the shocked looking hospital staff that were stood by the hospital’s entrance, a few with cigarettes hanging loosely from their agape mouths. Sam ducked back into the Impala without waiting for a response, already working on pulling his brother out.

Thankfully, when he turns around, it’s to see the medical staff rushing towards him with a gurney. They group around the Impala, squeezing through her doorframe as they gingerly pull Dean out from the backseats, placing him down on the gurney. They’re rushing towards the Emergency Department entrance before he can even blink, and Sam rushes over to match their pace, sprinting alongside his brother.

“What happened?” One of the staff asks him as they push through the doors. People scramble to get out of their way, a few extra members of staff rushing over to help.

“We were attacked-,” The excuse rolls easily off his tongue from years of experience. “-Bunch of guys in masks broke into our barn. My brother tried to fight them off, but they shoved him into one of the beams. It… there was a rebar sticking out and he landed on it. I… I think it went right through.”

The medics shared a look that Sam recognized immediately. It was a look that said, “ _this man shouldn’t be alive right now._ ” A look that said, “ _he shouldn’t be alive right now, but it won’t be long before that’s not the case anymore.”_

It wasn’t too surprising to see the medical staff wheel Dean towards the surgery ward. It also shouldn’t have been a surprise that one of the medical staff pressing a hand against his chest, stopping him from following them into surgery. Yet, he still looked down at the greying, balding man like he was insane.

“We’re going to do all we can for you brother, Sir. I promise you we’ll do _everything_ in our power to keep him alive. But I’m going to need to ask a few questions to get a better understanding of the situation, okay?”

“Yeah…” Sam answered numbly, looking right past the man and to where his brother was disappearing beyond two heavy, off-white doors. “I just… I think I need to sit down…”

The doctor – or was it a nurse? He wasn’t too sure - takes him by the arm, and Sam lets him lead him down the hallway to where the wall is lined with old rickety chairs adorned with faded cushions, sat upon by many stressed loved ones as they awaited their fate. Sam dropped down into one of the chairs, staring blankly at the cracked and peeling wall opposite. He’s vaguely aware of the man sitting in the chair next to him, clearing his throat to get Sam’s attention.

“So, Mr…?”

“Winchester,” Sam answers without really thinking.

“Winchester-,” The man continues, pulling out a small notepad and blue pen from within the pockets of his lab coat, clicking the top of the pen and placing it down on the notepad. “Start from the beginning.”


	2. A Dream Inside A Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His dreams of Purgatory were never dreams. They were nightmares. And no matter how hard he tries, no matter the real outcome of his time in Purgatory… he never reaches his goal. 
> 
> Which is why, perhaps, what happens next in the dream has the weapon sliding out of his numbed hands, hitting the floor with a wet ‘thud’. Because this never happened. 
> 
> In all of his dreams of Purgatory… he never finds…
> 
> “Cas?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: 'All I Want' by Kodaline  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtf7hC17IBM

All I want is nothing more,  
To hear you knocking at my door,  
'Cause if I could see your face once more,  
I could die a happy man I'm sure,

But if you loved me,  
Why'd you leave me?

Take my body,  
Take my body

_**-'All I Want' by Kodaline** _

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

The skies had opened, pouring down buckets of rain that made it even harder to see through the bleakness of the night. Sam hunched his shoulders up, hands shoved into his jeans pockets as he stepped out from the warmth of the hospital and into the chilling rain.

Thankfully, the doctor (he _was_ a Doctor, as it turned out) didn’t have too many questions for him. Mostly, he just wanted to get a better understanding of the extent of damage that had been inflicted upon Dean. When he started digging a bit further into the supposed ‘thieves’ that had broken into his ‘family barn’, Sam was able to escape from the situation with the excuse of finally calling the police to deal with the situation – which, technically, he was heading to do right now.

He was meant to go back for the others, get them out of that nightmare and back to safety. But… he couldn’t. He couldn’t go back there, see the bodies that littered the floor, see… see where his brother’s blood has dried into the ground.

Cars passed by him on the road, a blur of taillights and obnoxiously bright LED’s. So many strangers whose only experience of him is a brief image of a soaked man walking in the rain, never to know of the stories he held, of the lengths he went to ensure they get to experience their lives without the pain he holds.

The phonebooth he steps isn’t much warmer than the outside, but it does at least provide him with a brief respite from the pouring rain. Sam brings the receiver to his ear, sliding a few quarters into the coin slot and jamming his large fingers into the buttons, dialing for 911. His eyes slide shut as the dull tones of the phone ringing fill his ear, waiting to hear a voice on the other end.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” The woman’s voice on the line is calm and soothing, the vigorous training the operators must go through clearly working.

“Hi, uh…” Sam raises his other hand to rub across his forehead, choosing his words carefully. It wasn’t too difficult to amplify the tremble that was already in his voice. “I, um… I was walking my dog through a farmer’s field and I heard screaming coming from this barn. My dog pulled me towards it and… there’s a bunch of bodies here.”

Sam could hear the operator clicking away at her keyboard. “Do you know your location, Sir?”

“Yeah, it’s uh… I’m not too far out of Canton, somewhere around-,” Sam spiels out the exact location of the barn – of course, he wouldn’t ever forget where it is – the only response from the operator for a few more seconds being the tip-tap of her fingers on the keyboard; likely preparing to send out a unit.

“You said you heard screaming? I need you to try and check if anyone's still alive, okay? See if they're breathing, check for a pulse if you can.”

“There’s…” Sam paused, fighting back the tears that burnt beneath his eyelids. He had left him there… had he really left those children there? “There’s kids here. They’re alive.”

“Are they injured?” The operator asks.

“No, but… they’re pretty shaken up.”

“Okay Sir, I have a unit of officers and an ambulance already on the way to you, okay? I need you to stay with the children for me, the officers will need to take a statement for you when they-,”

Sam pulls the phone away from his ear, the operator's words fading away and cutting off completely once he places the phone back onto the hook. It was better this way, he reasoned with himself. The police would take care of the situation, would make sure the children got to where they needed to be. There wasn’t much help he could provide that the police wouldn’t be able to.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself to push down the guilt that was clawing its way to the surface.

Sam dropped his head back into the graffiti-covered plexiglass of the booth, the exhaustion of the evening beginning to take its toll now the adrenaline was wearing off. He knew he should be rushing back into the hospital now, pacing up and down the corridor as he waited for the doctor’s news. But his legs weren’t listening to his head. He felt glued in place. He didn’t want to go back into the hospital.

Because the doctors can’t reach him here. If he stays here, the Doctors won’t be able to tell him that Dean didn’t make it. Because that way, his brother will still be alive.

Won’t he?

Sam’s phone buzzes from within his jean pocket. Two short vibrations – a text message, not a call. Sam sighs quietly to himself, not ready to face anyone just yet. Still, he digs in his pocket for his phone, pulling it out from its confines and swiping his thumb across the screen, waiting for it to light up.

The phone nearly slips out of his hands at the name on the screen.

**‘Message Received - 11:27PM’**

**Eileen:** _‘Did… did you steal my truck?’_

There’s nothing he can do but stare down at his phone as the shock took over. It… it was a joke, right? It had to be. Eileen was gone, he knew that… they had been there to discover her discarded belongings on the pavement, the keyboard still open on her phone just as Chuck had snapped her away, just as he had everyone else.

And yet… here was a new message from Eileen on his phone. Just a little over two weeks from the last message. Sam clicks on the chat bubble, opening up the conversation and tapping rapidly across his phone’s keyboard.

**‘Message Sent – 11:31PM’**

**Sam:** _‘I don’t understand. Is that really you?’_

**‘Message Received – 11:32PM’**

**Eileen _:_** _‘I think I’m me. I’m not sure what happened. One second I feel myself fading away, the next I’m right back here. Everything’s gone except my phone was still in my pocket, and… it’s been two weeks? I don’t remember anything, Sam.’_

Eileen’s answers were only raising more questions. He had taken Eileen’s phone with him after they had found it. It _should_ be on top of his dresser table back at the bunker, where it’s remained for the past two weeks. And now Eileen was back and, what – it had somehow teleported back to her, also somehow completely recharged when he knew full well its battery had died a few days after he had found it? None of this made any _sense._

**‘Message Sent – 11:33PM’**

**Sam:** _‘Where are you? Are you safe?’_

**‘Message Received – 11:35PM’**

**Eileen:** _‘I think I’m safe, but I’m still… where I was placed back? I’m still right outside home. It’s like I blinked, and two weeks have gone by. I haven’t moved an inch from where I was. I don’t get what’s happened, Sam. I kind of hoped you might have some idea.’_

What was he going to do now? Every fiber of his being wanted to hop back into the Impala and race back over to Eileen. He couldn’t do that, though. Not when he knows Dean is just across the road, bound to a table and surrounded by scalpel wielding doctors, fighting for his life.

And worst of all… what if this _wasn’t_ Eileen? He so wants to give in to the hope that something good has happened for once, to just take the lucky break he’s been given in the middle of this nightmare… but that just doesn’t happen for him. For _them._

**‘Message Sent – 11:38PM’**

**Sam:** ‘ _Any chance you know how to hotwire a car?’_

**‘Message Received – 11:40PM’**

**Eileen:** _’I’m honestly insulted you need to ask me that.’_

Sam couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. The first he’s had in this hellish evening… Eileen did always manage to make him smile, even when the world was bearing down on him.

**‘Message Received – 11:41PM’**

**Eileen:** _‘I should be on the road in about ten minutes. Are you guys back at the bunker?’_

**_‘_ Message Sent – 11:42PM’**

**Sam:** _‘No, we’re not. We’re at Aultman Hospital in Canton. It’s Dean. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.’_

**‘Message Received – 11:43PM’**

**Eileen:** _‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’_

The little dot next to her name shifted from green to grey, signaling she was offline. Sam continued to stare down at the conversation, expecting it to vanish from his phone at any second. It was… it was real. Her messages were right in front of him, and yet, the pessimistic side of his brain was telling him not to expect for her to show up. Some sort of hallucination brought on by the trauma of this evening. A semblance of hope for his grief addled mind to cling onto.

Hope can go a hell of a long way. And if that hope is strong enough to force him out of that phonebooth and back towards the hospital, then well… 

He’ll hold onto that hope for just a little while longer.

* * *

The sounds of the hospital were repetitive, a constant cycle of sounds that faded into background noise. The shrill ringing of the phone at the reception, muffled coughs and sniffles of waiting patients, the occasional creak of a chair as someone shuffles around, surprisingly light footsteps of the staff heading up and down the hallways on their busy schedule.

The Styrofoam cup of bland coffee in his hands and long since gone cold. He had only managed to force down a few sips, his nerves twisting his stomach and making the drink unbearable to choke down.

Waiting was the worst part, Sam decided. Once they tell you the outcome… there’s not much else you can do. It’s the in-between part, where half of your mind is already starting the grieving process, whilst the other side is clinging to the belief that they’re going to pull through no matter what.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Sam’s head shot up, the doctor from earlier looking at him expectantly. Sam sprung up to his feet, very nearly throwing his stale cup of coffee all over the recently mopped hallway floors. The doctor held up a hand to stop him, gesturing for Sam to sit back down. This did nothing to soothe nerves. That wasn’t a good sign, was it? Wanting him to remain seated? Don’t they only do that when it’s bad news?

Sam dropped himself back down into the hard-plastic seat, trembling hands placing his coffee down on the floor by his feet. The exhausted-looking doctor sat down in the seat next to him, turning to face him.

“Mr. Winchester, I have to be completely honest with you here; From a medical standpoint, your brother should be dead. I’m a man of science, but the only explanation I have for your brother is that of divine intervention.”

It took a few moments for the doctors’ words to sink in. He had been expecting to hear the complete opposite, so hearing this instead had sent his brain through a loop. Dean was alive. Dean was _alive._

“He made it? He - Dean’s going to be okay?”

The doctor cracked a warm smile at his words. It must be nice to be the one to sit down with a family member and give them _good_ news. “Your stitch work is partly to thank for that, Mr. Winchester. Dean’s blood loss was extreme, to say the least, but he wouldn’t have even made it to the hospital without your intervention. The surgeons were _very_ impressed with your abilities – do you happen to have previous medical experience?”

“Uh… a little,” That wasn’t a _complete_ lie. He’s sewn up himself and Dean more times than he can count.

“Well, we were impressed. But mostly Mr. Winchester… we’re baffled.”

“By what?” Sam dared to ask.

The doctor opened his mouth to speak, a perplexed frown etched across his face. He shut his mouth again, giving a small shake of his head before continuing. “We truly don’t have an explanation for how your brother survived his injuries. Based on your description and the location and angle of the entry wound… that rebar should have at the very least pierced a lung, perhaps even his heart. The surgeons went in expecting this, but… there was nothing. Somehow, _all_ his major organs were unscathed.”

“So, what does this mean for Dean? How bad is the rest of the damage?”

“Well, as you can expect, a lot of the muscle around Dean’s spine has been significantly damaged. We did all we could to repair as much as the damage we could, but there’s not much else you can do but wait for the body to heal itself.

Your brother’s currently going through another blood transfusion to replace what he’s lost. He’s still incredibly weak from the surgery, and we’ll have to keep a careful eye on him over the night. But if he makes it through to the morning… I think we can safely say your brother will recover.”

“Can… Can I see him?”

The sight of the doctor shaking his head made Sam’s heart sink a little. “I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester. Your brothers at a very vulnerable stage right now, and it’s important for our staff to be able to reach him as quickly as they can.”

Sam knew this was the doctor’s kind way of saying “you’ll just be in the way”, but he understands. If he has to wait a little while longer in exchange for his brother’s life… he can be patient.

“I… thank you, Doctor I don’t think I can thank you enough.”

The doctor shot him a small smile, but it soon began to waver. Sam picked up on the hesitation coming from the doctor, feeling his brief moment of relief come to an end.

“What? What is it?”

“There’s something else,” The doctor admitted. That’s when Sam noticed the clipboard in the Doctor’s hand, recognizing the familiar glossy sheen of an x-ray document. The doctor handed the x-ray over to him, and even without the doctor's intervention, Sam couldn’t immediately see the horrific damage.

“Whilst your brother somehow managed to avoid any damage to his organs, I’m afraid the same cant be said for his spine. The rebar was pushed in between the vertebrae, just below the thoracic lumbar. As you can see, a few of the vertebrae were shattered from the impact. Unfortunately, the damage was severe enough to severe the spinal cord along with it.”

Sam knew what this meant. Logically, he knew what the Doctor was telling him. He just… he couldn’t believe it. They had to have got it wrong.

“What does this mean for Dean?”

“We’ll have to wait until your brother wakes up to perform more tests, but… the most likely case? Your brother will be paralyzed from below the injury. Mr. Winchester, I need you to remember how fortunate it is for your brother to even be alive in the first place. And, judging by the location of the break, your brother should still retain control over his arms. I can’t guarantee anything of course, but I’m hopeful.”

He didn’t know what to say in response to that. It seemed like the doctor didn’t expect him to either, for he leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder with an understanding look in his eyes. “I’ll give you some time with your thoughts. As a doctor, I recommend you get home or get a hotel room and get some sleep. But as a brother myself, I know you’re not going to do that. I’ll be the first to let you know when you can see him, okay? As soon as it’s safe, I’ll come get you. I promise.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Sam uttered almost silently, eyes fixated to the image of his brother's shattered spine in his lap. The doctor's hand disappeared from his shoulder, and when Sam next looked up, the seat beside him was empty again.

This was a challenge he wasn’t sure how to approach. Even now it doesn’t seem real, even after all that’s happened. There had to be _something,_ right? Some sort of spell, some kind of document hidden away in the Men of Letters files that could fix this. Crazier stuff than this had happened before, and there was _always_ something that could help. Surely a medical miracle wouldn’t be too hard to find…

His phone vibrated against his leg, ripping Sam out of his thoughts. He pulled it out from his pockets, swiping a thumb across the screen to unlock it.

**‘Message Received 3:12AM’**

**Eileen:** _‘Pulling into the hospital now. Are you in the waiting room?’_

Sam didn’t even bother replying to the message. His feet were carrying him down the hallway in mere seconds, hurriedly shoving his phone back into his pocket as he sprinted towards the hospital's entrance. The rain had yet to let up, soaking into his jacket the second he stepped foot outside. He stared desperately into the darkness of the parking lot, pushing his drenched hair out from his face as his head whipped back and forth.

And then… there she was.

She was hurrying through the parking lot, holding her olive- green jacket over her head to shelter her from some of the rain. Eileen seemed almost as surprised to see him as he was to see her, her pace faltering somewhat as her gaze landed on him. He could see her mouth his name from where he was stood, unable to hear her yet and yet he could tell she had uttered his name in disbelief.

Sam broke out into a sprint, kicking up sprays of water as he pushed through the puddles that had formed across the tarmac. Eileen’s face broke out into a beaming smile, one he knew he was mirroring right back at her. The two crashed into one another, Sam pulling the smaller woman into his chest and enveloping her with his large frame, wrapping his arms around her. She was _real_ and warm underneath his hands, solid and _alive._ Eileen’s arms had snaked around his waist, her face buried into the soaked material of his shirt, not bothered by its dampness in the slightest.

 _‘It’s you,’_ Sam unsteadily signed to her once she had pulled away, more than likely getting a few of the hand signals wrong, unable to wipe the relieved smile from his face. He couldn’t tell if the wetness on his face was entirely from the rain.

“It’s me,” Eileen reassured him, a comforting hand wrapped around his bicep. “I see the world hasn’t ended.”

Sam almost laughed. Almost. “I’m not too sure about that just yet.”

His words wiped the joking smile from Eileen’s face. “Sam… what happened?”

* * *

The hospital's canteen was closed at this hour, the only service available being the self-service coffee machine. The room was practically empty, with just the occasional staff member or visitor milling about to pour themselves a cup of coffee. Sam and Eileen were the only occupants of the metal tables, the two sat opposite with matching cups of luke-warm coffee sat in front of them.

“Wow…” Eileen breathed out, blinking rapidly in a daze down at her coffee. “So, Chuck is human now?”

“Far as I’m aware,” Sam answered. “He was when we left him, anyway.”

“And now _Jack_ is the new God? How does that work?”

“Honestly? I have no clue.” Sam replied. “Things are going to go back to the way they were, I suppose. He won’t step in or anything like that, he’s just… working behind the scenes.”

“Work? What kind of work?”

“Wish I knew. He vanished and… that’s the last we saw of him.” Sam turned sad eyes down to his cup, picking it up and taking a timid sip of the bitter liquid. Tasted as awful as the last cup…

“…and Cas?”

Sam’s stomach twisted uncomfortably again. “Gone… Not long after… after you… I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. Dean, he… he doesn’t talk much about what happened. I didn’t want to pry, thought it’d be good to try and get back into the swing of things, take his mind off everything. And now…”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Eileen snapped curtly, making Sam startle. “Don’t start blaming yourself for this. It’s not like you forced Dean into this hunt. It went wrong – it happens.”

“I know… but this is… this is something different, Eileen. He’s… I don’t think Dean’s going to react well to this. I don’t think he ever pictured a future where he’s… he’s…”

“He’ll be thankful to be alive,” Eileen asserted. “Everything else, all the bad that comes from this, we’ll deal with it _together.”_

The corner of Sam’s lips curved into a subtle smile, his fingers tapping a random rhythm against the cool metal surface of the table as he thought. “There’s… there’s something else.”

Eileen looked to him cautiously. “Something else as in ‘another threat to the world’ or…”

“About Dean,” Sam answered. “When you said he should be thankful to be alive… well, that’s the thing. He _shouldn’t_ be. The damage it should have done… it just wasn’t _there._ ”

“How? Are you saying he somehow healed himself?”

Sam shuffled closer across the table, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. “When I got to Dean… there was this _light_ emitting from the wound. Eileen, I saw his body _stitch itself back together._ But it didn’t heal him completely. It seemed almost alive, like it was struggling as it healed him.”

“That’s… how is that even possible? A spell?”

“Maybe? Except, I know for sure Dean doesn’t dabble in magic, and I don’t see why some random witch would give Dean a life-saving spell. I mean, those things take a _lot_ of effort, not to mention costly and hard to find ingredients. I’ve _seen_ this light before. I think… I think Dean isn’t entirely himself.”

“…What do you mean?”

“I think Dean’s being possessed.”

“ _What?_ By who?”

“That’s what we need to find out,” Sam stressed. “Cas told us there were barely any angels left in Heaven, and I can't see any of them being willing to fly down here and help Dean – and there’s no way Dean would _let_ one of them possess him. He just… he wouldn’t risk it.”

“I know you said he was dead, but… Is there any chance it’s Michael? Maybe he’s not even _possessing_ Dean. Angels leave behind some of their grace in their vessels, right? Maybe Dean found a way to use the left-over grace to heal himself.”

“I don’t think so,” Sam disputed. “Unless Dean knows something I don’t, humans shouldn’t be able to access an angel's grace. It’s not like you can tell it there or anything, at least – I couldn’t tell with Lucifer or Gadreel.”

“Okay, so… maybe it’s _not_ an angel?”

“Doesn’t _look_ like demon possession,” Sam said. “You don’t see demons healing their vessels often… then again, a lot of them kill whoever they possessing anyway, so why would they bother? There’s just something about that light though… it looked too… _angel_ to be anything else.”

“Unless it’s a demon _trying_ to trick you,” Eileen pointed out. “They might be trying to lay low, hope you won’t act too brash if you think it’s an angel instead of a demon.”

“But why would a _demon_ heal my brother?” Sam stressed, leaning closer to Eileen over the table. “And why would they have to ‘lie low?’”

“Didn’t you say Hell is under a new regime? I can’t imagine every demon down there is on board with the changes. You and Dean are probably like beacons to those demons at this point; I wouldn’t be surprised if they kept tabs on the both of you. All it would take is one rebellious demon to sense Dean’s vulnerability when he was injured and… took the opportunity.”

“Maybe… but even then, why wouldn’t _whatever’s_ possessing Dean heal him completely? Whatever it is, it saved his life, but… it was like it didn’t have the energy left to heal everything else. I mean, I can’t imagine a demon wanting to use a vessel that’s… that’s paralyzed…”

“Do you think… this is going to be something bigger? Bigger than just us, again?” Eileen asked timidly.

Sam huffed out a dry laugh, letting his gaze drop down to the coffee in his hands. “You mean like ‘apocalypse’ big? I don’t think so. At least, I _hope_ not… Look, I’m… I don’t want to be the guy to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know? For some reason, _something_ stepped in and saved Dean. But I can’t just _ignore_ the reason as to why.”

Eileen nodded her head slowly in agreement. “So… what are we going to do?”

“The only thing we can do,” Sam slowly peeled back his jacket, giving Eileen a glimpse of the angel blade neatly tucked away within the interior. “We test him.”

* * *

When Dean opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of a gray murky sky, most of his vision blocked by the long, tangling branches of the trees that hung over him, stretching out like sharp fingers reaching out to one another.

He was on his back, he realized; the cold dampness of the leaves under his back quickly soaking into his jacket. Dean pulls himself up into a sitting position with a groan, twisting his body to get a good look at his surroundings.

Ah… it was _this_ dream again.

The forest around him was alive in the worst way possible. Filled to the brim with all sorts of starving, blood-thirsty creatures, left to hunt one another for all of eternity. He already knew they were all around him, out of sight but their presence always keenly felt.

It’s only once he pulls himself to his feet that he feels a heavy weight resting in his hand that certainly wasn’t there before. His hand-crafted weapon had seemingly materialized into his hands out of thin air, which was on-par for his dreams of Purgatory. They were the same practically every time he had them; wake up, find his weapon, _kill._ But there was always one goal in these dreams, one hope that kept him going…

But that was the thing. His dreams of Purgatory were never _dreams._ They were _nightmares._ And no matter how hard he tries, no matter the _real_ outcome of his time in Purgatory… he never reaches his goal.

Which is why, perhaps, what happens next in the dream has the weapon sliding out of his numbed hands, hitting the floor with a wet ‘thud’. Because this _never_ happened.

In all of his dreams of Purgatory… he never finds…

“Cas?”

Castiel looked exactly as he did the last time Dean saw him – well, perhaps not _exactly_ like last time. He certainly didn’t look like the Cas he found in Purgatory; his beige trench coat was clean and pristine, not even a wrinkle to be seen on his azure blue tie, the color popping bright in the bland colors of Purgatory. His face was pretty much clean-shaven, only the slightest of hints of a five o’clock shadow brushed across his face.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Is the first thing to slip from Dean’s mouth, keeping a few cautious steps away from the memory of Cas that his brain had for some reason decided to place into his dream.

Castiel gives him a sad smile, ducking his head to avoid Dean’s questioning gaze. “I know I’m not supposed to be here. But it was the only solution at the time.”

“What?” Dean blurted out, his head rearing back in confusion. “No, it’s… I don’t get it…”

Castiel looked equally as befuddled as Dean now, face creasing with worry at the sight of Dean’s uncertainty. “You don’t get what?”

“This… this isn’t how the dream is supposed to go,” Dean insists. “It _never_ changes. The dream _never_ changes. I’m always trying to find you, trying to get you out of here. But every time… I _fail._ I never get to you in time, and the times I do find you… They get to you first.”

Understanding flooded through Castiel, the worry on his face quickly changing to a look Dean knew to be pity. “Dean… this isn’t a dream. Not anymore, at least.”

“The hell you talking about?”

“I suppose it’s possible your brain is trying to block it out… I just didn’t think it would be to this extent.”

“Alright, that’s it-,” Dean snapped, storming back over to where he dropped his weapon and snatching it from the floor. He flipped it in his hands, gripping the handle tight and pointing the end of the bone blade at _whatever_ the hell had taken up Castiel’s form. “I don’t know if you were made by my own mind, or if something else is at play here, but this is _fucked up._ You don’t get to _use him_ like this. You don’t get to stand there, pretend to be my dead _best friend_ , you son of a bitch. I’m waking up-,”

“You can’t,” Castiel interrupted softly. “Not yet, anyway. Soon though, if I’m correct.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean challenged, waving the weapon in front of Cas’s face. “And how do you know that?”

The forest around him changed. His vision flickered, everything becoming almost… staticky in appearance. Dean blinked, and Purgatory was _gone._ Now the concrete walls of the bunker surrounded him, seemingly teleported into the central area of the bunker. Castiel stood awkwardly by the map table, keeping an apprehensive eye on Dean.

“What in the-,”

“Dean, you need to remember what happened last night,” Castiel insisted, taking a chance and stepping closer to Dean. “You and Sam were on a hunt. Vampire nest, by the looks of it. But something happened. Something went wrong, and you were hurt.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re-,”

The memories hit him like a tidal wave, drowning him in _agonizing_ pain. They flash through his mind rapidly, forcing him to drop down on his knees, hitting the floor hard. There _was_ a hunt. It _had_ gone wrong. _Very_ wrong. The rebar… it was like he could still feel it impaled through his chest, could still hear his gurgles, choking on his blood.

He remembered… He was dying. And he prayed. He had prayed to Castiel, hadn’t he? And then there was that… that _thing._ This horrifying figure dripping with shadowy sludge that reached out for him, two gigantic and shattered wings unfurling over it’s back, stretching out in what once must have been an impressive display.

And… eyes. _Blue eyes._ Glowing deep within the seemingly never-ending darkness of the creature’s face, they emitted a visceral power, and yet… he had seen them before.

Dean lifts his head from his chest, his vision out of focus as things begin to click together in his mind. When his vision comes back into focus, it’s to the sight of Cas crouched down in front of him, a comforting hand resting on his left shoulder.

“You’re… you’re not part of my dream…?”

“No,” Castiel answered softly.

“It’s… it’s you?”

The edge of Castiel’s lips barely curled into a smile, giving Dean a gentle nod in response. Dean could only stare wide-eyed at Cas for a few moments, just waiting to snap awake back in his bed surrounded by empty bottles of booze, tricked by yet another cruel dream his mind liked to torture him with.

Dean lifted a tentative hand between the two of them, pushing it forward and gently resting his palm on Castiel’s chest. There was no heartbeat under his palm, but a flow of pulsating, warm, static-like energy that rested just underneath his skin, eagerly pressing itself against Dean’s prying hands. Dean lifted his eyes up to meet Cas’s, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as a million thoughts raced through his head. Dean’s hand shifts up, sliding up past Castiel’s neck and caressing across the side of his face, the sharp burn of stubble rubbing against Dean’s skin as he moves. The touch elicited another subtle smile from Cas, the angel patiently waiting for Dean to finish his inspection.

“Cas?” Dean breathes out his name in dumbfoundment, his fingers scrunching into the soft collar of Cas’s trench coat.

“Hello, Dean.”

That was all Dean needed to hear. He pulled Castiel closer by the lapel of his trench coat, the unexpected pull sending Cas off-kilter, all but crashing into the hug Dean pulled him into. Dean squeezed him tight like he might vanish if he doesn’t hold him close enough, fingers digging into his trench coat so hard that Cas could feel them scraping against his back.

“You dumb son of a bitch,” Dean whispers shakily against Cas’s neck, squeezing him tighter. “You _left_ me. Right when I… right when we needed you most.”

“I know,” Castiel utters softly in return. “I’m sorry. But If I had to, I’d do it all again. It was the only way to keep you safe.”

“You should have told us earlier,” Dean broke their embrace, squeezing Cas’s arm more in frustration now. “We could have figured something out, Cas. Got you out of that deal somehow…”

“And if you had, Billie would have knocked down that door and killed us both anyway,” Cas pointed out. “I would have been dragged to the Empty, and you would have been reaped.”

Cas began pulling him up to his feet, faintly tugging at his arm to get him to stand. Dean followed, getting a leg underneath him, leaning his weight on Cas for support to stand. Cas led him over to the map table, hovering nearby as he waited for Dean to drop himself down into one of the chairs before taking a seat himself opposite.

“So… this is all in my head right now?”

Castiel nodded. “You’re dreaming, technically. This is the only way I can interact with you in this form, face to face. I hope you don’t mind, but I changed the setting of your dream. I thought it might be more peaceful to talk in a place where you feel safe.”

“And you can do that because… you’re in my head… Holy - - I said yes, didn’t I? You’re… you’re possessing me?”

“I am,” Castiel answered. “It was the only way for me to heal you. It would have been impossible to do so outside of my body.”

“Cas, you’ve gotta explain some more of this to me man, because I don’t understand how… I mean, you were _gone._ I saw it. I saw you just… it took you. How the hell did you get out?”

Castiel kept his eyes trained on his hands, folded together in front of him on the table, his index finger tapping anxiously against his other hand. “Because of you.”

“… _What?_ ”

“It’s only happened once before, as far as I know. And that was with Nick.”

“Nick? Like… _‘Lucifer’,_ Nick?”

“Yes… It’s… it’s very rare for an angel to be killed, but have the vessel survive. And it’s even rarer to have the surviving vessel _miss_ being possessed. Nick's longing to have Lucifer back was so intense that it breached through to the Empty, waking Lucifer from his eternal slumber. When I awoke in the Empty the last time, I assumed it was just Jack’s power that had breached through. But Nick proved that you don’t need power to do so. And now… so have you.”

“Oh…” Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, subconsciously leaning away, putting a little bit of extra distance between him and Cas. “So… My prayer woke you up?”

“Your prayer. Your longing. Your pain in what you perceived to be your last moments… It was strong enough that not even the Empty itself could keep it quiet.”

“Huh…" Dean said brightly. "Bet the Empty’s pissed you got out _again._ ”

Castiel huffed a hushed laugh. “I’d imagine so, yes… It was definitely trying it’s best to keep me there when the portal opened.”

The two of them shared soft , easy smiles across the table. Dean wanted to take the time to enjoy this peaceful moment between the two of them before his life collapsed into chaos again. Which it undoubtedly will, because since _when_ do they ever catch a break?

“How many times you gonna save my life, Cas? Somehow even after death, you’re dragging my ass out of the fire…”

“Since when does death stop us?” Castiel refuted, a point Dean couldn’t help but agree with. “Besides, it’s what we do, isn’t it? We save each other.”

“Yeah… Yeah, it is… Cas, I… I wanted to find a way to get you out of there. You know that, right? I mean, after you were gone, I… me and Sammy were ready to throw in the towel if it meant Chuck would _stop_ , if he’d bring everyone back, bring you back… But then I kept hearing your words in my head. I kept thinking about how you did that, for _me._ And no matter how much I wanted to get you out, I knew deep down that trying to would get me killed. Because I’d be so desperate to find you, I wouldn’t know when to stop, when to call it quits. And If I got myself killed like that after you gave yourself up for me… it would be such an insult to you. I couldn’t do that….”

“It’s okay,” Castiel assured him, nothing but sincerity in his voice. “I did what I did because I knew our best chance at defeating Chuck was with _you._ I did it, because… I wanted you to live the life you deserve. Not the one Chuck had written out for you, not the one you _thought_ you should be living, or the one you _forced_ yourself into thinking you wanted… I wanted you to truly decide what life you wanted to live… and _live_ it.”

“Yeah, well… I tried. I wasn’t coping too well after… y’know. Thought a good ol’ fashioned hunt would distract me for a while. No God to fight, just plain Vampires. You saw how that ended up…”

“I had hoped that Jack might step in to intervene. I could sense his power the second I pulled myself free from the Empty. Jack is… he’s more powerful than any being that has ever existed now. The combined power of two Gods, along with his own? I just… I don’t understand why he wouldn’t help you.”

Dean could only shrug his shoulders in response. “Jack said he wasn’t going to be ‘hands-on’ with the world. Guess he meant it. No more second chances.”

“Ah… then I suppose we’ve broken the rules again?”

“Well, Jack hasn’t smited us on the spot for it… so I guess he can’t be _too_ pissed?”

“Exasperated, maybe.” Castiel countered with a tired smile.

“Alright-,” Dean gave the table a small slap, the action getting him a questioning eyebrow raise from Cas. “What’s the plan now, Cas? You gonna hop out of me, find some poor devout sucker willing to take you in?”

The smile slipped away from Cas’s face, which made the care-free attitude Dean had settled into melt away and be replaced with a familiar worry.

“Dean… I can’t….”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Dean asked.

“I can’t force an innocent person into that existence again, Dean. With Jimmy… he had been so _happy_ when I first took control. So certain he had been chosen, that he was _special._ I didn’t care back then. He was just… my vessel. A tool for me to perform my duties on Earth. I know now of the torture he had been through, the intense regret had ever felt for saying ‘yes’. Now Jimmy’s soul rests in heaven, and his body… his body hasn’t been _his_ in some time now. I had lived as a human in his vessel, Dean. Now… this body? This is _my_ body. It’s as much a part of me that my true form is.”

“Okay, so… where _is_ Jimmy’s body? Last time you came back from the Empty, you had your vessel didn’t you?”

“Because of Jack,” Castiel replied. “His powers meant I had come to in the Empty within the vessel I was possessing. This time… you saw what the Empty did to me as it took me. It broke me apart, atom by atom until I became… nothing. Nothing but Empty.”

“You saying your body is just _gone_?” Dean spluttered.

“It was destroyed, yes.”

“Can’t you just… I don’t know, use your grace and make it again?”

“No. I can’t. It’s... it’s another reason why I can’t just possess another vessel. My grace… it’s been fading. I’m not sure if it was Chuck’s intervention, or with the state Heaven’s in… perhaps both. But… Dean, I used nearly _all_ of my grace to keep you alive. The small amount I have left is what’s keeping me tethered to you. The effort it would take to leave you and locate a vessel that could occupy me, to speak with them and then take possession… the effort would burn through what’s left of my grace.”

Dean dropped his head down, scrunching his eyes as his hand came up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “ _Dammit,_ Cas _…_ if you knew that was going to happen, you shouldn’t have-,”

“Healed you?” Castiel finished Dean’s sentence, voice dripping with disbelief. “I think we both know that’s not an option.”

“Yeah, and now what? You’re gonna be trapped in my head, Cas. How long? The rest of my life? Can I even die while you’re possessing me?”

“Eventually, yes. My grace would burn out trying to keep you alive as you age.”

“ _Fuck…_ Okay, okay… we’ll figure something out.” Dean muttered, tapping anxious fingers against the glass top of the map table.

“Like what?” Castiel asked, clearly not too confident in Dean's plan making abilities. 

“Like… I dunno, Cas. I’ll wake up, and me and Sam will tear apart the bunker trying to find something… There’s got to be _some_ way to repair your body, or… or make a new one. An empty vessel.”

“Dean… I don’t think-,”

“No offense Cas, but damn nearly every time you’ve said, ‘I don’t think we can do that’, we find a way to do it anyway.” Dean jabbed a finger at Cas as he spoke. “If we can find a way to recreate your body, would you be able to jump into it without using up the rest of your mojo?”

“I… I suppose so,” Cas answered, not sounding too sure in his answer. “If it was a recreation of Jimmy’s… of _my_ body, then yes. Seeing as I already had permission to possess the body, the amount of grace required for me to transfer over from you to the new vessel should be survivable.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Dean said with a tone of finality. “We’ll find a way, Cas. I promise you. All I’ve gotta do is… wake up.”

“Dean, there’s… there’s something else,” Castiel’s expression had shifted to something akin to guilt, no longer able to meet Dean’s gaze. “When I healed you… I only had enough grace left to heal the damage that would be fatal. The pierced chamber of your heart, your collapsed lung, and your broken ribs… but that was all I could fix before my grace had ‘ran dry’. Mine and Sam’s efforts were enough to keep you alive long enough to get medical attention, and the doctors did everything they could… but there’s some damage leftover that I can’t heal.”

Dean’s mouth felt dry, a wave of nausea flooding through him at the thought of what had been broken inside of him so badly for Cas to be this apprehensive with his answer.

“What kind of damage, Cas?”

Castiel swallowed nervously, something that Dean realized was very human of him to do. He finally lifted his eyes up from the table to meet Dean’s inquiring gaze, opening his mouth to answer. But if Castiel spoke then, Dean didn’t hear it. Everything had gone silent as Castiel disappeared in a burst of white light, exploding through the room until the bunker was all but gone, nothing left of Dean’s vision except for that intense, blinding light.

In a small private room in the ICU of Aultman Hospital, Dean Winchester awakens.


	3. Internal Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, just once it’d be nice for the Universe not to screw us over. You’d think we’d earned a break by now-,”
> 
> Dean was interrupted by a splash of holy water hitting his face, about half of it getting into his mouth. He scrunched his eyes shut against the onslaught of water, swinging his mouth closed and leaning his head to the side to spit the holy water onto the floor. 
> 
> “Fair enough…” Dean mumbled, pulling up the bedsheets and drying off his face. “Pretty sure soaking a cripple on his first day earns you a one-way ticket to Hell, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Brother by NEEDTOBREATHE

Brother let me be your shelter,  
Never leave you all alone,  
I can be the one you call,  
When you're low,  
Brother let me be your fortress,  
When the night winds are driving on,  
Be the one to light the way,  
Bring you home

_**-'Brother' by NEEDTOBREATHE** _

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

Seeing his older brother like this was heart-breaking.

They had both had their fair share of injuries. A few stints in hospitals across the country over the years. Of course, the introduction of Castiel into their lives had dramatically reduced those visits, having their own personal angel who was willing to heal up any scrape or… potentially life-threatening injuries.

Dean had always been a pillar of strength in his life. Only in rare times did he ever see his brother look so _broken,_ so dependant on another. Now, seeing his frail body in this hospital bed, surrounded by multiple beeping machines with countless wires coming out of him… it was a sight he almost couldn’t bear to see.

Eileen’s gentle touch on his shoulder pulled his gaze away from Dean. He turned on the uncomfortable plastic chair to face her, giving her an appreciative smile as she handed him yet another cup of coffee.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try and get some sleep?” Eileen asked him, rubbing her hand across his back soothingly. “I can stay here and watch over him.”

“I’m okay,” Sam brushed off her concern, though made sure to brush her arm by his back to show his thanks for her worry. “I don’t want to leave him yet… I’ll have to get back to the bunker soon anyway to pick up some stuff for him. Ah, and... I’ll have to try and find a pet-friendly motel nearby…”

Eileen’s hand paused on his back. “…Why?”

“Oh, right, I forgot to tell you,” Sam said with an amused huff. “We, uh- _Dean_ actually found this dog after… after Chuck wiped everyone off the board. She got wiped away too shortly after because Chuck… well, he’s _Chuck._ She was brought back when everyone else got brought back and… Dean couldn’t leave her there.”

“Didn’t you say Dean wasn’t really a fan of dogs?”

“I think Miracles an exception. Don’t tell him I said this, but… I think Miracle is the only thing keeping Dean together after what happened to Cas. He’s not doing great even _with_ her, but if she wasn’t here with us…” Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head as the awful memories flooded back. “You didn’t see him when Cas died right as Jack was being born. Mom was gone, and we had to see Lucifer shove that angel blade right through Cas, and… he couldn’t move. He dropped down by Cas’s side, and… He wasn’t the same until Jack brought Cas back. It was scary to see him that way. The anger I could deal with, you know? It was how Dean coped, finding something to blame, and… he directed all that at Jack. But when he wasn’t angry… it was like a part of him died with Cas. Like he wanted to just… give up.”

“They really mean a lot to each other, don’t they?” Eileen said wistfully.

“You have no idea,” Sam chuckled. “According to Cas, he and Dean ‘share a more profound bond’.”

“A _what?”_

“Cas’s words, not mine,” Sam raised his hands in the air with another short burst of laughter. “I assumed it was because Cas rescued Dean from hell, but Cas did the same for me and we never formed a ‘profound bond’ like Cas has with Dean.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound jealous,” Eileen teased him, giving his shoulder a light squeeze with a playful smile.

"Oh, trust me – I’m _glad_ Cas directed most of his attention towards Dean. Do you have any idea the number of times I’ve been caught in the middle of the conversation between the two of them with _just their_ eyes? Cas got better over time, but the _staring?_ He was always kind of awkward with stuff like that, but with Dean… they somehow managed to talk to each other entirely with looks. _”_

“It makes sense,” Eileen noted. “Cas probably learned a lot about humans _from_ Dean. He’s probably able to get a better read from Dean on how he feels by looking at him than just _listening_ to him. I know I haven’t known Dean as long as you guys have, but I get the feeling Dean isn’t the kind of guy to tell the truth when it comes to how he feels?”

“It’s a rare occasion…” Sam mumbles. “I made the mistake of asking him what actually happened to Cas. He told me and Jack that Cas died to save him, but that was it. I know it’s painful for Dean, but… I miss Cas too… He’s one of my oldest friends, and I don’t even know _how_ he died.”

“What happened when you asked?” Eileen pried.

“Just repeated what he told me before. Said ‘Cas saved my life, Sammy. That’s all you need to know’. Next morning, I found him slumped over the library table with books about the afterlife splayed about the place and an empty bottle of scotch in his hands.”

“Afterlife? You think he was trying to find a way to get Cas out of the Empty?”

“Must have been. I’d done the same… but there’s barely anything about the Empty in _any_ of the documents the Men of Letter’s keep. It’s been so unknown for so long there’s just… nothing about it anywhere.” Sam told her, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.

“Hm… I know if our roles were swapped, and it was you trapped in that place? I don’t think I’d be coping much better than Dean is.”

Something about the sentiment behind Eileen’s words sparked a realization within Sam’s mind. His gaze switched from Eileen to his brother, his face slipping into an expression of pity as all the strange moments between his best friend and his brother connected in his mind. “Oh, Dean… you’re never going to get over him, are you?”

“No, he won’t,” Eileen said, her words getting Sam to turn and face her again. “What Dean’s lost… you never really get over it. The pain never truly lessens, but… you get used to it.”

* * *

Sam had been slumped over in his chair, dead to the world when he was woken abruptly by Eileen roughly shoving his shoulder.

“Sam!” She called his name urgently. “Sam, it’s Dean! I think he’s waking up.”

Sam snapped back into consciousness at that, blinking rapidly to adjust to the bright lights of the hospital room. His gaze landed on Dean’s form, his breath hitching in surprise as Dean’s eyes flutter open. He sees the moment Dean truly comes to, eyes widening in panic at the unfamiliar surroundings. Dean raises his hand to his nose immediately, very nearly tugging out the IV line in his hand as he attempted to remove the nasal cannula wrapped around his face.

The doctor from before was by Dean’s bedside before Sam could even fully stand from his chair, who was forced to stand awkwardly behind the Doctor as he looked over Dean.

“Mr. Winchester? I’m Dr. Sullivan, I’m a surgeon here at Aultman Hospital in Canton, Ohio,” Dr. Sullivan told Dean as he gently pried Dean’s hands away from the fragile medical equipment. “Do you understand what I’ve told you so far?”

Dean’s panicked eyes fixated on Dr. Sullivan, giving a quick nod of his head at the doctor's question.

“Where’s Sammy?” Were the first words Dean croaked out.

“Your brother is right here, Mr. Winchester,” The doctor stepped off to the side, placing Sam into Dean’s line of vision. The panic visibly dropped away from Dean’s expression the second he caught sight of Sam. Then, Dean’s gaze slid over to where Eileen hovered nearby Sam, his face quickly twisting in confusion as he took her in.

“Now, I just need to perform a few quick checks on you, Mr. Winchester.” Dr. Sullivan continued on, not privy to the dumbfoundment Dean was currently trying to work through. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Dean,” Dean answered, knowing there was no point in giving a fake name seeing as the Doctor already knew his last time. “My name is Dean Winchester.”

“Fantastic,” Dr. Sullivan commented with an encouraging smile. “And we’ve already gathered that you know your brother and what his name is, so I guess we can skip that one. Do you remember what happened to you?”

Dean turned anxious eyes over to his brother. It was _very_ unlikely that Sam told the Doctor what _actually_ happened. Otherwise, the Doctor wouldn’t be holding together his professionalism quite as well as he is right now.

“I was attacked,” Dean went with something safe. “I… there was this metal bar… it went through me.”

“Good,” Dr. Sullivan said. Dean almost laughed. How was _that_ good? “How do you feel?”

“Like I got impaled by a metal pole…” Dean responded dryly, wincing at the pulsating ache that sat within his back.

The Doctor cracked a sly smile at Dean’s comment, pulling a clipboard off the end of Dean’s bed. “Sense of humor’s good, a good way to cope. But to be more specific Mr. Winchester, I need you to rate your pain on a scale from one to ten. One being mild discomfort and ten being the worst.”

“Probably around a six,” Dean answered truthfully. Sure, the ache in his back was painful, but he _knows_ it could be worse.

“Okay…” Dr. Sullivan mumbled under his breath as he scribbled away at his clipboard. “Your IV drip is attached to a steady supply of morphine right now; It should help to dull some of the more intense pain, but the effects may begin to wear off after some time. If the pain gets worse, let us know and we’ll up the dose for you.”

“Eh… I’ve been through worse, Doc.” Dean let his head drop back into the scratchy hospital pillow, closing his eyes against the bright ceiling lights.

“I’m not too sure I believe that Mr. Winchester. Though I can tell you you’re a lucky, lucky man.”

“Yeah? I don’t _feel_ too lucky…”

“I’m not sure what else you’d call surviving a rebar to the chest other than ‘lucky’. How it missed all of your organs…” The doctor’s voice trailed off as he shifted off to a table to the side, plucking up a pair of latex gloves and snapping them on his hands. “Now, Mr. Winchester… during your surgery, we discovered some severe damage to your thoracic lumbar-,”

“My _what?_ ” Dean interrupted Dr. Sullivan.

“It’s the section of your spine just below your shoulder blades, running to the center of your back,” Dr. Sullivan answered. “When the rebar entered your back, it was forced in between two of your vertebrae. Those two were shattered, and a few above and below were fractured and pushed out of alignment. The damage to the vertebrae themselves, we were actually able to fix for the most part with the help of some titanium pins. Unfortunately, we noticed some evidence of trauma to your spinal cord.”

Sam’s heart twisted in sympathy at the way his brother's face fell. Perhaps Dean had been expecting to hear this, for he didn’t look shocked by the doctor’s words, but he most definitely looked crushed.

The doctor peeled back the sheets covering Dean, exposing his lower body to them. The doctor stepped down to the end of the bed, pressing a glove covered finger into the middle of the underside of Dean’s foot. “Can you feel this, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean couldn’t only weakly shake his head side to side, not trusting his voice to keep steady right now. He followed the doctor’s movement as he straightened back up, taking a step forward and placing a hand over Dean’s lower leg, giving his calf a gentle squeeze. “How about this?”

Again, Dean shakes his head no.

“Can you try moving your legs for me? Nothing too strenuous, just a small shift to the side will do.”

Dean stared down at his legs lying motionless on the hospital bed, certain he had never concentrated on a part of his body so hard in order to get it to move. But… no matter how hard he tries to get his legs to move… they don’t. Nothing happens, not even a twitch of his muscles. They just… lay there.

Dean doesn’t have to say anything for them to know he couldn’t do it. His face said it all.

“I’m going to touch your upper body now, okay Mr. Winchester? We just need to get an idea of where the paralysis starts.”

 _Paralysis._ That single word bounced around in Dean’s skull. It… it couldn’t be possible. That happened to _other_ people. It… it couldn’t happen to him, could it?

Dean’s thoughts are interrupted by the doctor’s prying fingers pressing against his ribs. Dean instinctively hisses at the pain – healed, but still sore- raising an arm to swat away the Doctor’s hand.

Wait a minute… He could _feel_ that.

“Well, Mr. Winchester, it seems you are just full of surprises,” Dr. Sullivan said with a pleased smile. “We assumed that, with the damage, you would have lost all feeling below the injury. Seems like you still have some sensation of touch in your upper body, and we’ve already seen that you still retain full control of your arms. I think we’re well past calling you ‘lucky’. It’s a damn right miracle.”

“And what about my legs?” Dean couldn’t help but ask. “Will they… will they be like this forever? Could they heal?”

Doctor Sullivan sighed, peeling the gloves off his hands. “I want to be honest with you here; it’s very unlikely for you to regain feeling in your legs. I’m not one to say never however, and with the rapid advances of modern medicine, we really never know. But I also don’t want to give you false hope, Mr. Winchester.”

“So, this is it?” The defeated tone in Dean’s voice crumpled what was left of Sam’s strength. “I can’t walk?”

“For the time being… no. I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester. I truly am,” Dr. Sullivan shifted his sympathetic expression over to Sam and Eileen, giving them a respectful nod as he began shuffling over to the exit of the room. “I’ll be back later to run some more tests. I’ll give you three a moment.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” Sam just about got out before Dr. Sullivan slipped out of the room. Dean was staring dejectedly down at his legs, willing them to suddenly fix themselves and start moving again. Sam shot an anxious look over to Eileen, who looked torn between comforting Dean or comforting Sam.

“…You okay, Dean?” Sam asked, taking a few awkward steps closer to his brother’s side. The glare Dean shot up at him answered his question in more ways than words could. The glare quickly dropped from Dean’s face, crumpling in on himself, trying to hide away from his brother’s woeful gaze.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean assured them, putting on a clearly fake smile. “I’ll get used to it… ‘s gonna take some adjusting, is all.”

“Do you need anything?” Eileen offered timidly, hanging by Sam’s side. “Some water, maybe?”

“Could use a stiffer drink than that,” Dean joked. “Could also use an explanation as to how you’re here? You were gone when Chuck snapped everyone away.”

“Well…” Eileen said uncomfortably, sharing a worried look with Sam. “I don’t actually know…”

“It’s one of many things we’re trying to figure out. Shortly after I got you here, Eileen was dropped back where she was.” Sam said.

“What, _two weeks_ after everyone came back?”

“Seems like it,” Sam said.

Dean leaned his head back, closing his eyes with an exasperated sigh. Sam took the opportunity of Dean averting his eyes to reach into his pocket, pulling out a metal flask and quietly unscrewing the lid.

“You know, just _once_ it’d be nice for the Universe _not_ to screw us over. You’d think we’d earned a break by now-,”

Dean was interrupted by a splash of holy water hitting his face, about half of it getting into his mouth. He scrunched his eyes shut against the onslaught of water, swinging his mouth closed and leaning his head to the side to spit the holy water onto the floor.

“Fair enough…” Dean mumbled, pulling up the bedsheets and drying off his face. “Pretty sure soaking a cripple on his first day earns you a one-way ticket to Hell, Sammy.”

Before Dean could crack another joke, Sam had slid the angel blade out of his pocket, advancing towards Dean. He could see the moment Dean recognized what was in his hands, eyes widening in alarm as Sam moved closer.

“Woah, Woah, wait – Sammy!”

Sam didn’t let him say anything else, He grabbed his brother by the arm, pulling it straight and slicing across the tender skin. To Sam’s horror, the cut that appeared quickly flared with a bluish light, stitching up the small gash instantaneously. Sam’s eyes flickered up to see that same blue light appear in Dean’s eyes, completely overtaking the green of his irises until all Sam could see was that dazzling blueish white light.

“Sam, stop!” Dean’s posture had changed _completely_. He had straightened up as much as his damaged spine would let him, his movements stiff and uncoordinated as he reached out a hand to stop Sam. His voice had dropped a few octaves, impossibly deep in tone to the point it sounded like Dean’s vocal cords were being shredded apart.

Sam pressed the angel that was possessing his brother into the bed with one hand on its shoulder, holding the angel blade against its neck. The thing using Dean’s eyes glances down anxiously to the blade, the angel’s hand on his arm insistently pushing him away. Eileen stood nearby, checking the door to make sure no one would come into the room.

“Stop cutting Dean,” The angel commanded urgently. “I don’t have enough grace left to keep healing him like this.”

“Which one are you?” Sam spat at him, pressing the blade even closer as a threat. “Why the hell are you possessing my brother?”

“To save his life,” The angel insisted. “And to save mine. Sam, it’s _me._ It’s Cas.”

Sam blinked in surprise, lessening the pressure on Dean’s neck without really thinking about it. “Cas? No, that’s… that’s not possible… Dean said, he… You’re _dead._ ”

“And so was Eileen,” Castiel pointed out, giving a small nod of his head towards the woman in question, careful not to catch himself on the blade against his neck.

“I don’t believe you,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “You can’t be Cas. You just… you _can’t_ be.”

“When we first met, Dean had to stop you from shooting me,” Castiel began, the statement catching Sam off guard. “You were rather star-struck upon meeting me; having been the first time you had met an angel. My opinion of you at the time was rather harsh: the boy with the demon blood. But Dean helped me to see you in a different light. In the way _he_ sees you. It was enough for me to be willing to dive back into Hell and recover your soul after you sacrificed yourself for the world.”

Sam was frozen in place, gaze fixated on the eyes that were his brothers, but also _weren’t_.

“Once, years after meeting you, I realized just how similar we were. Our fear of failing those we love, of letting down those we lead. Our willingness to sacrifice ourselves for the ‘greater good’. You nearly got yourself killed trying to make things right, to track down Gadreel and bring him to justice. But I wouldn’t do what you asked. I had to make you see your life was more valuable than that.”

The blade slipped away from Cas’s neck, held loosely in Sam’s hand as he stared down at ~~Dean~~ _Cas_ in disbelief. “… _Cas?_

Castiel visibly relaxed as the blade dropped away from his neck, giving Sam a firm nod in response. Sam stood agape for a few more seconds before throwing himself forward, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and pulling Cas into an awkwardly angled hug. Sam knew it was definitely Cas when Dean’s hands come to rest at his back, giving Sam a few clumsy pats before committing to the hug and squeezing Sam closer.

Yep. That’s Cas, alright.

“How the hell are you alive?” Sam asked once they broke apart, glancing over to Eileen to gauge her reaction. Eileen was still stood by the door, looking unsure as to what she should do now. Sam tucked the angel blade back into his jacket, sitting back down in the chair next to Dean’s bed. “Dean said you were gone?”

“I was,” Cas answered. “I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you or your brother. Dean knows now of course, but… I had made a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Eileen asked warily from beside the door, eyes flickering between Sam and Castiel. “A demon deal?”

Castiel shook his head. “I have no soul to barter with a Demon, so, no. This was shortly after Jack had succumbed to his illness, you see. When I found him in Heaven, we were being chased by the Empty.”

“The Empty can get into Heaven?” Sam asked.

“Apparently so. It believed that, since Jack was part angel, he belonged to the Empty after death. However, Heaven had already claimed Jack, because of his soul. I didn’t have a choice, Sam. I offered myself up to the Empty in exchange for Jack’s life. The Empty took that deal.”

“But… it’s been over a year since we lost Jack,” Sam questioned, brows furrowing in his confusion. “Why hadn’t the Empty taken you? Why _now?”_

Castiel tore his gaze away from Sam, looking at anything in the room other than the two pairs of peering eyes. “The Empty added an extra part to our deal. It would only take me… once I experienced a moment of true happiness.”

Sam glanced over to Eileen at this, matching expressions of wonder on their faces. It was rare to see Castiel this uncomfortable during a conversation.

“Billie was dying, and she wanted to take me and Dean with her,” Castiel continued before Sam could add anything. “Dean and I had barely just escaped her for the moment, but I could only buy us a few extra minutes before she got to us. So… I did the only thing I could. I summoned the Empty by fulfilling our deal, and it took Billie with me.”

“And… you fulfilled your deal by… experiencing a moment of true happiness?” Sam timidly asked.

“Yes,” Castiel was still refusing to meet Sam’s gaze, staring down at his hands in his lap.

“…You’re not going to tell me what that was, are you?”

“No.”

Castiel’s answer wasn’t all too surprising to Sam. While it was true that Castiel had opened up to him more over the years they’ve known each other, he was still quite reserved when it came to these kinds of things. Probably something he picked up from Dean… And yet, Castiel’s hesitation actually gave away more than he was probably intending to. _A moment of true happiness._ Castiel had managed to experience a moment of _true_ happiness – with Dean. And now, as Sam thinks to the extra bottles of beer he found lying around the Bunker, and Dean’s sudden urge to be all cuddly with Miracle… he’s beginning to understand why Dean had been mourning Cas just a little differently than he had last time.

“Cas… if the deal was fulfilled, then… how did you get out?” Sam asked.

Castiel was grateful for the subject change, some of the tension in his posture slipping away. “Your brother, I believe. When Dean was… when he was _dying,_ he began praying to me.”

“He reached you in the _Empty?”_ Eileen asked, voice alight with incredulity.

“Dean and I… our bond is rare. There aren’t many angels that know humans on a _personal_ level. Most prayers to angels are of the common ones we get: asking for help, for guidance, for a show of faith. They’re rarely ever _directed_ at those individual angels. And they’re never usually packed with so much _emotion._ Especially not… not…”

“Not _what?_ ” Sam pressed on.

“Those emotions aren’t typically _for_ that angel. Jack was able to reach me in the Empty with a combination of his powers, and his desire to have me back. Dean was able to reach me through his fear of death, his desperation to have someone save him… and his longing to see me again.”

Sam didn’t really know how he was supposed to respond to that. This was a conversation about his brother that seemed a bit more… _intimate_ than he’s comfortable with. Especially when he knows Dean is sat somewhere within his own body, perhaps even listening into their conversation right now.

“Wow… Uh, I mean - - I’m still a little shell shocked at the minute… Don’t get me wrong, I’m… I’m thrilled to have you back, Cas. I missed you. You and Jack. Except, at least with Jack I knew he was still _here,_ but… you were dead, and Dean wouldn’t talk to me about it, and… it’s all been a bit much.”

“I can imagine,” Castiel said with an understanding smile.

“What’s the deal with… you know-” Sam gestured to Dean’s body. “- _This._ Why are you possessing Dean? What happened to your body?”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer when an odd look twisted across his features. It almost looked like he was trying to listen for something, his eyes dull and unfocused.

“Uh… Cas?” Sam asked, snapping his fingers in front of Cas’s face. “You there, man?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, a bit more clarity coming into his eyes. “Apologies, but Dean is getting rather uncomfortable being ‘forced into the passenger’s seat’.” Castiel raised his hands to place quotation marks over the words.

“Okay… what does that-,”

Dean’s body straightened up again, eyes flashing with angelic grace before returning to the usual soft green eyes of his brother. Dean blinked in a daze as he came back into his own body, giving a little shiver to try and clear the odd feeling.

“Man, that’s gonna take some getting used to,” Dean muttered, his voice raised back to his usual tone. “I’m kinda glad Michael placed me into that fake dream world while he was possessing me…”

“You say that like this isn’t going to be temporary…” Sam noted.

“For the time being… this is all we’ve got,” Dean replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “Cas is too weak to jump into another vessel after using up nearly all his grace to keep my dumb ass from dying. So yeah, for the time being, Cas is shacking up in my head.”

“For how long?”

“No idea. Current plan of action is to find a way to recreate his body again.”

“ _Recreate?”_ Eileen spluttered, interjecting into the brother’s conversation.

“Doesn’t sound easy, does it?” Dean replied gloomily. “The Empty pretty much _deleted_ Cas’s body when it took him. No way of getting it back…”

“Well, what about his grace?” Sam threw out the suggestion. “Isn’t there a way we can ‘ _recharge’_ it back to normal levels?”

‘ _Not without potentially throwing Heaven into chaos, no.’_

Dean startled so harshly at the voice in his head that it got Sam to his feet in seconds, ready to sprint out of the room and find a Doctor in the fear that his brother was having some sort of seizure.

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean spoke out loud to the room, only confusing Sam and Eileen more. “How the hell did you do that?”

‘ _Do what?_ _Talk to you? Like this.’_

**‘Yeah, but you’re talking in my head.’**

_‘As are you.’_

**‘What?’**

_‘You’re not speaking out loud, Dean. Only I can hear you when we talk like this.’_

“Dean!”

Dean snapped back to reality at his brother’s distraught voice. Sam was shaking his shoulder whilst Eileen had seemingly teleported to his side, an equally anxious look on her face.

“What the hell was that, Dean?” Sam demanded. “You just zoned out on us!”

‘ _You’ll have to work on diverting your attention between what’s happening and what I’m saying, or you might freak out the doctors and we’ll have to stay in the hospital longer.’_

“Whoa…” Dean exclaimed, raising a hand to his head. “This is weird…”

“ _What’s_ weird?” Sam asked, voice growing more agitated at Dean’s elusiveness.

“Me and Cas have got this weird Vulcan mind mend thing going on,” Dean answered, tapping at his head. “He’s talking in my head; and apparently… I can talk back to him too?”

“Uh… you sure you didn’t… imagine it?” Sam asked.

_‘I can assure you Dean that you aren’t suffering from any brain damage that would lead to hallucinations of my voice.’_

“Cas says I’m not crazy, so yeah - I’m pretty sure, Sammy,” Dean answered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, does that mean Cas can hear and see everything _you’re_ seeing?” Eileen sounded genuinely fascinated by all of this.

‘ _Yes, so long as you want me to, Dean. With enough effort, you would be able to block me out. Although, at my currently weakened state, it likely wouldn’t take much effort at all.’_

**‘Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you, Cas. Makes it easier this way anyway – you could probably point out stuff I don’t usually pick up on. And this way, you can still be part of the conversation; though guess I have to be your translator to pass on the message.’**

_‘Thank you, Dean… Eileen and Sam are looking worried again, you might want to refocus yourself.’_

Sure enough, when Dean focused back into reality, Sam looked about ready to slap him back into the conversation. “Sorry, I promise I’ll get better at listening to Cas and talking at the same time. And yeah, Cas says he can hear and see everything I do.”

_‘With your permission.’_

“With my permission,” Dean adds.

“Huh… must be weird for Cas to be possessing you.”

“Why’s that?” Dean asked with a questioning frown.

“Well – I assume you’re the one that’s going to be in control most of the time, right?”

“That’s the plan, yeah,” Dean answered.

“Then it’s probably going to be weird having it the other way around.”

_‘I have experienced this before when Lucifer was possessing me. You are a much better companion than Lucifer, Dean, so it’s not too weird.’_

**‘Is that a compliment? I’m assuming it’s a compliment. Doubt it takes much to be a better companion than freakin’ Lucifer, though.’**

_‘I suppose not. But there’s no other human I would want to share a body with than you, Dean._ ’

“Alright, Cas is getting weird so I’m going to cut him off,” Dean told them with a strained smile. “Cas said he’s cool with it.”

“Uh-huh… That _all_ he said?” Sam pressed his brother for more.

“Hey, _I’ll_ tell you everything Cas directs to _you._ Everything Cas says to _me,_ is _my_ business.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched as he fought hard to keep his laughter from bubbling out. “Dean, that… you’ve got to realize how that just sounded.”

_‘I don’t understand… how did it sound?’_

**‘Sammy probably thinks you’re talking dirty to me in my head.’**

_‘Oh… I’m… not?’_

**‘I know you’re not, Cas. Sam’s just being nosy.’**

“Good job, Sam. You embarrassed Cas,” Dean scolded him.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Yeah, but you _implied_ something, and it made Cas uncomfortable.”

_‘Maybe it would be best if I left for a bit…’_

**‘What? No, Cas – you don’t have to do that. I’ll change the subject.’**

“ _I_ made Cas uncomfortable? You sure it’s not _you_ that’s uncomfortable?” Sam continued to tease.

“Whatever you say, Sammy,” Dean conceded with hands raised in the air.

“Isn’t there _more important_ things we should be talking about?” Eileen cut into their childish sibling argument. “We still don’t know _what_ brought me back, or _why._ And _rebuilding_ Cas’s body? Do we even know if that’s possible?”

“We won’t know until we look into it further,” Dean answered, turning cautious eyes over to the door, unsure as to whether the footsteps he heard were heading towards their room. “And we can’t do that until we get back home to the bunker…”

_‘Dean… I think the doctors are going to want to keep you in the hospital for a few more days… And I’m inclined to agree with them.’_

**‘What? I feel fine-,’**

_‘We’re sharing a body, Dean. I know you’re not ‘fine’. You only feel fine for the moment because of the painkillers you’re on. You need a few extra days for your body to heal and adjust to its alterations.’_

**‘If the only problem is me handling pain, I can assure you I can do that from the bunker, Cas.’**

_‘It’s not just that, Dean. I… I can’t heal you anymore. At all. If something were to go wrong, if you re-damaged your back and began bleeding internally… there’s nothing I could do. Please, just… a few extra days here is all I ask.’_

**‘Dammit… Alright, fine, Cas. Only because you asked so nicely…’**

Dean decided not to add his crippling fear of what would happen to Cas if something happened to him.

_’Thank you, Dean.’_

**‘Yeah, yeah… Besides, it’s not like we have to worry about a time limit this go around. You’re good so long as you don’t use any of your grace, right?’**

_‘Oh, um… yes. Yes, I should be fine if I don’t use any.’_

“Alright, clearly you and Cas want some alone time,” Sam teased Dean mercilessly, giving Dean’s leg a light slap as he stood from the chair.

“What? No! That’s not-,”

“I’m joking, Dean,” Sam said with a smile, much too pleased with himself for Dean’s liking. “I need to go talk to the doctor about how long they think you need to stay… Then I really need to head back to the bunker and check up on Miracle; find a place that’ll take her while we’re here.”

“Oh, I see. The dog’s more important than your poor injured brother, huh?”

“Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t kick my ass for leaving her there alone.”

“You two have a very weird sibling dynamic…” Eileen said with a shake of her head.

_‘Can you tell Eileen I couldn’t agree with her more?’_

**‘Don’t you start sassing me in my head, Cas.’**

“Cas said he agrees with you…” Dean mumbled dejectedly, passing on Cas’s message. Sam embarrassingly signed the message to Eileen who couldn’t make out Dean’s mumbles, cracking into laughter at the two brother’s shame at being called out.

“You want me to pick up anything from the bunker while I’m there?” Sam asked over the last of Eileen’s giggles. “Some books, maybe?”

“Could use my laptop for research – and no, not the ‘sexy’ type of research, before you say it.”

_‘Sexy research?’_

**‘Porn, Cas. Porn.’**

_‘Oh… Um, if you could warn me in advance before you watch such content, I’ll put myself to sleep-,’_

**‘Stop talking, Cas. Stop talking right now.’**

Dean already knew his face was burning a bright red. Sam and Eileen’s questioning looks were enough evidence of that

“…Laptop, got it,” Sam said after quite the gap in their conversation. “Uh… anything else?”

“A new change of clothes for when I get out of here… Don’t really fancy struggling out of here in this hospital gown with my ass hanging out in the wind.”

“You could have stopped at the first sentence. I really didn’t need that image in my head.” Sam said, face scrunching with disgust as he pulled the Impala’s keys out of his jacket pocket. “You gonna be okay here on your own for the night?”

“I’m not on my own. I’ve got Cas, remember?” Dean said, a smile creeping onto his face at the thought. Sam rolled his eyes as he turned away – for what reason Dean didn’t want to think about – gesturing with head to Eileen to follow him out of the room.

**‘Ain’t that right, Cas? You’ll keep me company for the night, won’t you?’**

The silence Dean got from his head was enough for the light-hearted smile on his face to slip away.

**‘…Cas?’**

_‘You told me to stop talking.’_

Dean snorted out loud, the sound catching Sam and Eileen off guard just before they stepped out from the room, sharing knowing looks and sly smiles with one another.

**‘Damn… You have no idea how much I missed you, Cas.’**


	4. Training Wheels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was then, he thinks. As the flash went off, Dean stood next to Cas with their best blue steel impressions, immediately cracking up into laughter after and playfully tapping at the rim of Cas’s cowboy hat whilst Cas smiled at Dean like he was the sun that Sam realized… 
> 
> If they ever were to lose Cas again… the Dean he knows is going to die with him.
> 
> Chapter Song: 'Friends' By Ed Sheeran

We're not,  
No we're not friends,  
Nor have we ever been,  
We just try to keep those secrets in a lie,  
And if they find out, will it all go wrong,  
And heaven knows no one wants it to

_**-'Friends' by Ed Sheeran** _

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

After an entire day of tests, tests, and… oh yes, more tests, Dean had assumed he would sleep peacefully for the night. You know, that type of mental exhaustion where you fall into a deep sleep with nothing but total blackness? The one where you blink, and then all of a sudden there’s daylight peeking in through the blinds?

Yeah, well… he didn’t get that.

He was back there again. Same place, same night. The wooden walls of the barn around him seemed smaller somehow, closing in on him. Not enough space to move around, not enough places to move away from the fangs wanting to sink into his neck.

And there were _more_ of them. That was clear right off the bat, there were _way too many_ of those mime freaks for him to handle. No matter how many necks he sliced through, how many heads he sent dropping to the floor, it seemed there was always one of them ready to take their place.

“SAM!” He yelled out into the chaos, unable to see his brother in the swarm of bodies. There’s no response from Sam, only the cruel laughter of the Vamp’s mocking his cry for help.

And then it was happening again.

It played out just as it had that night. The Vamp’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him back with its unnatural strength. He knew where he was headed… he knew what would happen… but he couldn’t stop it. Within seconds, he’d have to feel the agonizing pain of that rebar sliding through his chest again.

Instead, his back meets a wall of solid muscle. The impact sends them both tumbling back, the person behind him steadying Dean with two hands on his shoulders. Dean both feels and hears as the person hits the support beam _he_ was supposed to hit, a soft grunt escaping the person at the collision.

The Vamp didn’t expect for another person to join the party either it seemed, hesitating for just a moment, its grip on Dean’s shoulders weakening in its disorientation. Dean took advantage of that hesitation, bringing up the machete in his hands hard, slicing off the Vamp’s right arm on his shoulder. It only screamed in pain for a few seconds before the machete was slicing through its neck, screams reduced to a gurgling, choking mess as the body collapsed to the ground.

The Vamps are closing in on him, fangs bared under their clown masks and low hisses emitting from within. But Dean doesn’t care. Because this _wasn’t_ how it was supposed to play out. He needed to see who was behind him, what had – quite literally- taken the bullet for him.

“CAS!” Dean can’t help but scream his name as the fear grips him hard.

Castiel doesn’t look pained. It doesn’t look like the rebar is bothering him at all. But there’s a _fury_ in his face that’s both awe-inspiring and terrifying, and Dean can only be thankful it isn’t aimed at him. Cas pulls himself off the rebar like it’s no trouble, like the blood soaking through his pristine button-up shirt doesn’t matter. Dean knows he should be focusing on the Vamps breathing down his neck, but he _can’t look away._

This was a Cas he hadn’t seen in a long time. This was the _wrathful_ Castiel he had first met; eyes lit up with burning grace and bursting with a golden light that illuminated the two _ginormous_ wings that had filled up the cramped interior of the barn.

“…Cas?”

In a blink, he was gone. A puff of air behind him, the flutter of wings, and Dean whirls around to see Cas there, machete in his right hand whilst the other is wrapped protectively around him, pushing him to safety.

Dean _could_ help. Nothing is stopping him from telling Cas to ‘stop treating him like a kid’, to rush in there and let more Vamp heads roll. Instead, Dean finds his feet frozen in place, watching with mouth agape as Castiel works.

And that’s the only word that fits it, really. This was what Castiel once _was._ This was an _angel;_ not the fat babies in diapers with a halo and a golden harp, Castiel was a _soldier of God._ He doesn’t even flinch as he pushes the machete through the countless bodies in front of him, blood splattering across his face and trench coat with every swipe of his blade. There’s only one moment where Dean is close to intervening, when the last Vamp very nearly gets the jump on Cas, running full sprint at Cas while his back is turned.

Cas’s hand shoots out, not even looking behind him as he catches the Vamp by its neck. The creature can only flail uselessly, it’s hands desperately scrambling at Cas’s arm to free itself. The furious gaze Castiel sets on the Vampire would be enough for even Dean to drop to his knees, able to taste the rage that rolled off the angel in waves. The mask is ripped off in a flash, then Cas’s hand is covering the Vamp’s entire face, an intense white light bursting from within. The Vamp’s screams are tortured as it’s burned from the inside out, reddish goo leaking from the empty sockets in its head, eyes melting into nothing. When Cas finally drops the body to the floor, all that remains of its face is a burnt and ashen mess, pieces of blackened skin peeling away as it hits the ground.

“Holy _shit._ ”

Dean’s expletive is enough to snap Castiel out of his rage-filled trance. His face softens as soon as his eyes land on Dean’s awed expression, ducking his head and sinking in on himself, seeming almost… ashamed?

“I… I think I may have gotten carried away,” Cas admitted, glancing around at the bodies that littered the floor. “I’m sorry if I startled you, Dean.”

Dean is still waiting for his brain to reset, images of Castiel in full smite mode replaying over and over in his mind. “Uh… What?”

“You’ll get used to this,” Castiel told him, gesturing at their surroundings. “Most humans don’t realize they’re dreaming until after they’ve awoken. It’s only because I’m interfering with your dreams that you become aware of your unconscious state.”

“You… you took that rebar for me, Cas.”

Cas’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at Dean’s statement, bending his arm back awkwardly to touch the hole running through him, his hand coming back soaked in blood. “Yes, I know. But I’m fine, Dean. Neither of us can be harmed, not truly. Not in your dreams.”

“Then why’d you do it? If you knew it didn’t matter, why’d you throw yourself in front of that rebar for me?”

“Because…” Cas paused, eyes dropping to the ground. “There’s still pain in your memories… pain that your sleeping mind can recreate in your dreams. I didn’t… I _couldn’t_ let you go through that again. Not when I could do something to stop it.”

“Oh…” Dean swallowed deeply, glancing down to the burnt-out Vamp body by his feet. “And… Why’d you go all psycho-angel on my dream Vamps?”

“Because they deserved it,” The dangerous edge was back in Cas’s voice again. “And… because I couldn’t protect you when you needed me.”

“Cas…” Dean uttered softly. “You _died_ for me. And then came _back_ for me. You’ve saved my life more times than I count.”

“And now, I can no longer do that,” Cas sounded pained, face twisting in annoyance at himself. “I’m of no use to you. I couldn’t even scrape enough of my grace together to heal the damage to your spine. If you get hurt again-,”

“I’m not gonna get hurt again,” Dean stepped closer, gripping Cas by his bicep, catching Cas’s attention. “Does losing my legs suck? Of course it does. But without you, Cas? I wouldn’t even be here talking to you. Hell, maybe me losing my legs was for the better. Only something like this would force me to stop hunting.”

“But you enjoy hunting.”

“I do,” Dean agreed with a nod of his head. “I did… but, hey – we can figure something out, right? I can still find a way to be in the hunter game, maybe not just as ‘physical’ as I used to be.”

“And what about your brother?” Cas asked. “Will he continue to hunt without you?”

“Sammy? I… huh, I don’t really know. He’s got Eileen now, so… Guess it’s up to them whether they continue the hunting game or get smart and retire.”

Castiel’s lips twitched into a subtle smile. “And can you not do the same? ‘Retire’ from hunting?”

“You can get the hunter out of hunting, but you’ll never get hunting out of the hunter,” Dean answered with a sly smile. “Our line of work, ‘retiring’ is usually more of a permanent option. Now Sammy and Eileen, I can see them taking the more ‘pleasant’ option of retiring, but me…? I dunno. Feel like I’ll always have my toe dipped into the hunting waters.”

The soft smile on Cas’s face slipped slightly as his gaze dropped from Dean, landing on the bodies around them. With a sigh, Cas clicked his fingers, and their surroundings changed. Back in the bunker it seemed, though this time in Dean’s ‘man-cave’, one of the spare rooms they had renovated into their movie room.

Castiel took a seat on the comfy, well-worn couch pressed against the wall, the still-wet blood covering his trench-coat immediately staining the couch.

“Dude!” Dean complained, gesturing to the new stains. “Come on, man!”

Cas rolled his eyes at him, snapping his fingers once more. The blood vanished from the surface of the couch, along with his trench-coat returning to its usual clean state of being.

“Uh, does that not use up your grace?”

“No. This is your dream, remember? Your mind's unconscious state. I can manipulate your dreams in any way I choose.”

“Wow, uh… Should I be worried about that?” Dean joked.

Cas almost looked offended at his question. “Of course not. I’d never do anything that would affect you – not without your permission.”

“I know, Cas. I was just messing with ya,” Dean dropped next to Cas, nudging his shoulder against Cas’s with a beaming smile. “So how does this work exactly? You gonna swing by every dream I have?”

That’s up to you, I suppose,” Castiel answered. “This isn’t like when I visited your dreams before. There’s nowhere else I can go but inside your head. If you don’t want me here, I suppose I could force myself into something close to a ‘sleep’.”

“Sounds boring,” Dean noted, leaning back and crossing his feet atop the chipped coffee table in front of them. “I'd rather you drop in on me, Cas. Ruin a few nightmares my pain in the ass brain has planned for me. And, uh…”

“What?” Castiel pressed.

“I… I meant it, you know. When I said I missed you. I’m guessing this is the only way I can hang out with you in person until we get your body back, so…” Dean cleared his throat, giving Cas a few pats on the arm. “Yeah… Drop by whenever you want.”

Dean didn’t know what message he was trying to send with his words there, but whatever it was, the smile Cas sent his way meant he must have said the right thing.

“Just make sure I’m not doing anything embarrassing first,” Dean threw a wink in Cas’s direction, chuckling deeply at the befuddled look Cas had in response to that.

“Like what?”

“Uh…. You know…” Dean wiggled his brows at Cas. “Like when there’s a sock on the door… if the rooms rocking, don’t come knocking?”

“I don’t get it,” Castiel’s answer nearly had Dean burying his face into his hands. “How would your room start rocking? Unless in the event of an earthquake, or – _oh….”_

“And he’s got it…” Dean glanced up at Cas, surprised to see the deep red color that had spread across Cas’s face. “Wha – Really, Cas? Talking about sex still gets you all flustered?”

Somehow, Cas’s face only got redder. Dean cracked up into a fit of laughter at Cas’s expense, who didn’t look too pleased with being the reason for Dean’s amusement.

“I thought that reaper popped your cherry? Woulda’ thought you wouldn’t be as, you know, _Cas_ about this kind of stuff anymore.”

“It’s not exactly the greatest of memories,” Cas snapped irritably. “It’s difficult to look back at it fondly when I was tortured and killed the morning after.”

“Ah… yeah, I guess that’d put a damper on things…”

“You could say that.”

“Tell ya what, soon as we get you back into your body, we’ll head out to a bar. I’m telling you Cas, there’s no better wingman than me. The girls will be clambering over themselves for a shot at you. Get you some better memories, yeah?”

Castiel’s gaze slid away from Dean’s, hunching over himself on the couch, staring down at his hands in his lap and fiddling awkwardly with his fingers. “Um… no, thank you.”

“No?”

“No,” Castiel repeated firmly. “I’m not interested.”

“ _You’re not interested_?” Dean mirrored Cas’s words in disbelief. “You’re just… not interested in sex? Like, at all?”

“I didn’t say that,” Castiel replied testily. “I’m not interested in sex with random strangers I do not care for.”

Dean’s face scrunched in confusion. “Uh, okay? If not with strangers, then who? Who else would you want to-,”

Dean’s words dried up in his mouth as the realization clobbered him around the head, mouth still hung open in mid-sentence. He closed his mouth with an audible clang of his teeth, feeling the heat rush to his face, now the same deep shade of scarlet that Cas couldn’t quite seem to shake.

“So, uh… anyway… guess having more control of my dreams is kind of like… a second life, huh?” Dean thought out loud, eager to change the subject. “You can’t usually tell when you’re dreaming, right?”

Thankfully, Castiel rolled with the change without a complaint - though Dean resolutely chose to ignore the brief flicker of disappointment he saw from Cas. “Not typically, no. I believe some people are more aware of when they’re dreaming, with some even able to gain some form of control over their dreams.”

“Think that’s called ‘Lucid Dreaming’ or something like that,” Dean said. “Hey, wait – does that mean I can control my dreams too? Like how you did, with the changing where we are and all that.”

“I don’t see why not. Though, you may accidentally wake yourself up with the effort.”

Well, no time like the present. Dean focused on the table in front of him, eyes squinting and body straining as he tries to summon two frosty beers. He released his held breath with a harsh sigh when nothing appeared, crossing his arms and pouting like a child.

“What did you try to do?” Cas’s eyes darted between Dean and the empty space he had been staring intensely at.

“Make two beers appear…” Dean grumbled, arms still firmly crossed. 

As he said it, two bottles of beers appeared magically from thin air on the table. A brief surge of excitement ran through Dean, thinking he had managed to do it himself, but the pleased smile he saw on Cas’s face quickly proved him wrong.

“You’ll figure it out eventually,” Castiel assured him, gesturing for Dean to take one of the beers.

Dean plucked up the beers from the table – already with their lids popped off – passing one of the bottles to Cas and keeping the other for himself. “Might be dangerous once I do… all that power at my finger-tips… how did you not abuse your angel powers more?”

“I can’t do what I’ve been doing in your head,” Castiel replied, taking a sip of the cold beer, the bitter liquid going down smoothly. “I couldn’t manifest items. I couldn’t change environments on a whim – though I suppose my power of flight was close to that…”

“Noticed you had your wings back in the barn,” Dean noted, gesturing at the empty space behind Cas with his hand, beer still firmly gripped in hand. “Thought you couldn’t fly anymore with them?”

“I can take up any form I wish to,” Castiel answered. “My true form right now is nothing but light, my grace circulating through your body. I chose to appear to you as Jimmy because… it’s what I’m most comfortable with now. And it allows me to speak to you face to face.”

“Can’t say I blame you for wanting your wings back,” Dean said. “Must’ve felt like you… lost some limbs…”

Castiel glanced over at Dean’s deflating tone, face softening in sympathy at the sight of Dean staring woefully down at his own legs. “That is an apt comparison, yes. Dean… I can't even begin to apologize-,”

“And you won’t,” Dean cut him off curtly. “This isn’t on you, Cas.”

“But it is,” Castiel argued back. “I could have healed you completely If I had just-,”

“If you had what? Burnt through all your grace and died? Again?” Dean finished his sentence for him, voice growing in irritation.

“Yes.”

“Sorry Cas, but that ain’t a fair trade. If losing my legs is the price I have to pay to keep you here with us, then I’ll take that deal a thousand times over.”

Castiel genuinely looked taken aback by Dean’s sentiment, eyes locked with his, trying to assess if Dean’s lying or not. And as much as he hates to admit it, Dean finds himself getting angry again. He can’t help it. Why does Cas not see? What does he have to do for Cas to understand how much he means to him? After twelve years of non-stop apocalypses, end of the world’s and pissed off cosmic beings, with Cas _always_ by his side… he thought Cas would get the hint by now that he _wants_ him around.

“Besides, I’ve still got the use of my legs in my dreams, so that’s a plus,” Dean slapped at his legs on the table with a grin. “I got cold beers, the use of my legs, and my best friend back. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

Cas shook his head, the kicked puppy look still plastered on his face. “You deserve more than that…”

And as those words lingered in the air between them, Dean let the thoughts in his mind run free, knowing he’ll never have the balls to speak them out loud:

**‘If you could see yourself how I see you, Cas… You’d know I’ve already got more than I could ever deserve.’**

* * *

“They really think Dean’s good to go in a few days?” Eileen followed just behind Sam as they descended the bunkers metal stairs, stepping out into the map room.

“That’s what they told me, yeah,” Sam answered, craning his head around so Eileen could read his lips, coming to a stop in the center of the room. “He just needs a few days to recover from the blood loss, and make sure his immune system doesn’t start attacking the metal pins in his spine.”

“That’s a _thing_?”

“Apparently…” Sam sighed, glancing around the bunker’s interior, a concerned frown etched on his features. “Huh, usually she’s-,”

Sam couldn’t even finish his sentence before there was the sound of claws clicking against the bunker’s concrete floors, soft pads pacing down the hallway rapidly as Miracle came into sight. Her blonde tail began wagging impossibly fast as she laid eyes on Sam, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth as she pants.

“There she is!” Sam beamed, dropping down into a crouch and holding out his arms. Miracle ran straight into them, hopping up so her front paws were resting on Sam’s thighs, trying to lick every bit of his face she can reach.

“This is Miracle-,” Sam introduced her to Eileen, turning his beaming smile over to her. “-She’s _very_ friendly, as you can tell.”

“I can see,” Eileen said with a laugh, crouching down alongside Sam. Miracle immediately shifted her attention to the new face she has yet to meet, giving Eileen a thorough sniff-down before she too began pawing at Eileen’s lap, tail whipping between Eileen and Sam’s legs, excited to have a new addition to the bunker.

“You should see her with Dean,” Sam gracefully stood back up, stretching out his back until it popped – his age really was starting to catch up with him. “You think she’s loving with us? You haven’t seen anything until you see her fawning over Dean.”

“Maybe Dean’s just good at forming ‘profound bonds’ with strays.” Eileen shot him a joking smile, giving Miracle one last scratch behind the ears before standing up. 

Sam barked out a laugh, shaking his head fondly and turning to walk further into the bunker. “Are you calling Cas a stray?”

“In a nice way-,” Eileen made sure to add, keeping up with Sam’s long strides as they headed down the bunker’s hallways, Miracle’s bounding footsteps following just behind. “Dean just seems to have a soft spot for those that can’t find a home.”

Sam stuttered in his steps as he came to a stop outside Dean’s room, his gaze resting on the doors to Jack’s and Cas’s rooms. “Yeah… guess you could say that… But, so long as Cas has Dean? He has a home.”

Dean’s room hadn’t been touched since they had left. The bed had been left hastily made, its sheets wrinkled, and pillows haphazardly placed atop the covers. A few half drunken bottles of beers were dotted around the room, most in arms reach, giving the room a perpetual stench of alcohol that lingered in the air – though not as strong as Sam had smelt just a week before.

Sam couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his mouth at the photo he saw lying on the bed. It was the one of Dean and Cas, from when they had to dress up as cowboys to blend in with the locals. Right after the photo had been taken, Dean had set up the old janky printer they had in the bunker and printed out two copies.

The moment was still fresh in Sam’s memory. Dean had joyfully pressed his phone into Jack’s hands, babbling about how he couldn’t miss the photo opportunity – and the blackmail said photo could be used for against Cas, who still didn’t seem too sure on the western-style and trench-coat combo. It had been one of the first times Dean had treated Jack like… well, like one of _them._ Jack had smiled in that moment, Sam remembered. Jack had always tried _so_ hard to please Dean… and there, on that day, bringing Cas back into their lives… he had done just that. Even with the knowledge of mom trapped in that other world, the responsibility of getting her back, Dean was finally starting to look more like his old self again.

It was then, he thinks. As the flash went off, Dean stood next to Cas with their best blue steel impressions, immediately cracking up into laughter after and playfully tapping at the rim of Cas’s cowboy hat whilst Cas smiled at Dean like he was the sun that Sam realized…

If they ever were to lose Cas again… the Dean he knows is going to die with him.

“They kind of look like models for some Texan ranch magazine,” Eileen commented, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to get a better look at the photo he held precariously in his hands. “When was this?”

“Few years ago, now,” Sam answered, soft smile still lingering on his face. “This was, uh… this was not long after we got Cas back. Dean realized we don’t have any photos of Cas, so… yeah.”

“Cas doesn’t look too impressed with the hat.”

Sam huffed with quiet laughter, gently placing the photo on Dean’s dresser next to Dean’s framed photo of him and mom. “Yeah, but it made Dean happy, so he put up with it.”

Miracle had already made herself comfy on Dean’s bed, looking up at the two with half-moon eyes, tail thumping lightly against the bedsheets. Sam gave her a good ruffle on the head, sighing to himself as he glanced around the room.

“Alright, I’m gonna grab some of Dean’s clothes, find his laptop… _somewhere_ in here. If you, um…”

Eileen raised an eyebrow at Sam’s hesitation, trying to catch his eye when he kept his eyes fixed on Miracle as he stroked a hand down the fur on her back. “Sam?”

“I think the keys to your truck are hanging in the garage somewhere,” Sam finally got out in a rush. “If you wanted to take them and head home…”

“Are you kicking me out?”

“What? No! No, of course not!” Sam spluttered, backtracking quickly. “I just… with everything going on, I thought you might want to-,”

“You think I’d leave you now?” Eileen stepped closer to Sam, pinching his chin between her fingers to force his attention onto her. “Just because Dean’s the one that got injured doesn’t mean he’s the only one that’s going to need help. This is going to be tough on _both_ of you. If I can help? I’m not going anywhere.”

Sam smiled gently down at her, covering her hand on his chin with his own. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to stay.”

“You’re not,” Eileen assured him quietly. “I _want_ to stay. With Chuck finally gone… things seem calmer now. Clearer.”

“If you’re sure…?”

“I’m sure,” Eileen leaned up on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek, then another on his lips, lingering there for a moment longer before pulling away. “Think it’s about time you shave off that five o’clock shadow, too.”

Sam ducked his head down with an abashed grin, huffing in almost silent laughter. “I’ll get right on that.”

“I know you’re worried about him,” Eileen was able to read his mind, like usual. “But he’s in the best place he can be right now. Cas is with him, and I think we both know Cas would rather sacrifice himself than let something happen to Dean. But that’s not going to happen. He’ll be _fine._ It’s going to be a lot of work. A _lot._ There’s going to be times where Dean doesn’t want to look in our direction, times when he lashes out, and we’ll handle all that, okay?”

“I know we will. It’s just… it’s always something, you know? With what happened to Dean, and now… now we’ve gotta fix Cas, too…”

“At least this problem isn’t one that’ll potentially end all life as we know it. If you’ve taken on _God -_ and _won -_ then I think something like this would be a walk in the park.”

“Yeah… just got to find a way to recreate a body that belongs to an angel which was destroyed by a being older than God himself. Sounds easy…”

“You’re a Winchester,” Eileen pointed out, patting at his chest. “Beating impossible odds is in your blood.”

* * *

Sam was up the next morning early as usual, electing to forgo his usual jog in the woods outside the bunker to get Dean’s stuff together. It didn’t take too long to scrounge together a few pairs of jeans and sweats from Dean’s cupboard, along with some soft cotton t’s and flannel shirts- they’re wardrobe didn’t exactly have too much variety.

He found Dean’s laptop after a few minutes of searching around Dean’s room, eventually finding it tucked under Dean’s bed, having to get down on his stomach and army crawl underneath to retrieve both laptop and charger. It was hastily shoved in the clothes bag they would typically use for hunts, then stored just outside his room while he ducked into the bathroom for a shower.

The soothing hot water did it’ trick, scrubbing away all the grime, sweat, and stress built up from the past two nights. Sam savored the feeling of the warm water pounding atop his head, bracing himself against the tile walls as the drops cascade down his body and soak into his hair. He couldn’t stay in there forever though, eventually gathering enough energy to flick the switch off and cut off the water, the instant chill of the air pushing him out of the cubicle to grab a towel.

Now, freshly clean and with a new set of clothes, Sam felt at least somewhat more prepared to take on the rest of the day. He plucked the bag of Dean’s clothes and laptop back up from outside his room, making his way to the bunker's kitchen to find Eileen already sat at the table, chewing on a slice of buttered toast. Miracle was sat patiently next to Eileen, her head in her lap, best begging eyes on full display as she watched every movement of the toast in Eileen’s hand.

“Thought you were still asleep,” Sam said as he dropped the bag off on top of the kitchen island.

“Felt when you got up,” Eileen told him once she had swallowed her bite of toast. “I’m a light sleeper, so it happens.”

Sam pulled out the last few slices of bread from the bread tin, popping it into the toaster to prepare his own breakfast. “Oh, well, sorry for waking you up.”

“Eh, I needed to get up anyway,” Eileen waved off his apology. “I fed Miracle, by the way. Just to make sure we don’t double-feed her.”

“Me and Dean still do that,” Sam admitted with a small laugh, leaning his hip against the kitchen isle as he spoke. “She’s _very_ good at convincing you she’s been left to starve.”

“I bet these puppy eyes work a little too well on Dean,” Eileen ran her fingers through Miracles soft curls, whose tail began thumping harder in response. “I bet you guys give her everything she asks for.”

“Maybe,” Sam admitted, jumping slightly when his toast popped out of the toaster – never fails to get him… “ _I’m_ stronger willed than Dean, though. She doesn’t even have to beg him for anything; Dean’s already scraped his leftovers into her bowl before she even knows he has food.”

Sam was halfway through buttering his own slice of toast, searching through their depleted cupboards for his sugar-free jar of jelly (which is not real jelly, according to Dean), when Eileen places a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about,” She said once he had turned around, jar of jam in hand.

“What’s up?” Sam’s eyes followed her as she dropped her plate into the kitchen sink, flicking on the tap switch and grabbing a sponge from the sink, scrubbing at her plate.

“I think it might be best if I stay here. While you go and get Dean, I mean.”

“Oh,” Sam blanched, mostly moving on autopilot as he picks the knife back up and dunks it into the jar of jam. “You don’t want to come with me to bring him home?”

“You know it’s not that,” Eileen corrected him, turning the tap off and plucking up a towel from its hanging place and using it to dry the plate off. “I just think it makes more sense, don’t you? I can be here to look after Miracle while you’re away instead of trying to find a pet-friendly motel, and I can help get this place ready for when Dean gets here. For one, your cupboards are in a _desperate_ need of a restock.”

“Yeah, we… were never the best at keeping track of things…” Sam rubbed at the back of his neck, averting his gaze. “But don’t feel like you have to do all this stuff. I should be doing all of that, too.”

Eileen finished off drying the plate, placing it atop the drying rack before turning to face Sam, leaning her side against the sink. “Think of it as earning my keep. Besides, I _want_ to help, and I feel like I’d be more help here than I would at the hospital. Dean’s probably going to be feeling overwhelmed already, and I don’t want to make that worse.”

Sam’s brows scrunched into a frown as he finished spreading the raspberry jelly onto his toast, placing the knife into the sink with a soft sigh. “Maybe you’re right… I don’t really know _what’s_ the right thing to do with all this…”

“We’ll figure it out,” Eileen reassured him with an understanding smile. “Right now, your brother needs you.”

“Yeah… and I’d imagine Cas needs saving soon, too.”

“…From what?”

“Poor guys trapped in Dean’s head with nowhere to go,” Sam joked with a teasing smile at his brothers’ expense, shoving his slice of toast into his mouth. “Won’t be long till he’s driven out of his mind.”

* * *

To say Dean was bored was an understatement.

Usually, waking up from his dreams was a relief. That typically happens when 99.9% of the dreams you remember are nightmares, so it’s not too much of a surprise that he tries to limit the amount of sleep he gets to the bare minimum. This time, though? He actually found himself feeling _disappointed_ when he woke up. Probably the most well-rested he’s been in _years_ , and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

His dreams somehow felt more _normal_ than reality. Just hanging out in the bunker with a few beers, his best friend by his side as they talked about everything and everything… compared to now, quite literally stuck to his hospital bed, squinting up at the laughably tiny box tv and flicking through countless channels of _nothingness_ … Yeah, he was living the life…

_‘Have you somehow gained enough brain power to process a single second of every show you’re flicking through to process each and every storyline?’_

Dean paused with his finger hovering over the button to change the channel, surprised by Cas’s voice in his head for the first time since he’s woken up.

**‘Uh… no?’**

_‘Well neither have I, so could you please stop?’_

Dean huffed with a roll of his eyes, changing the channel over to the only show out there that never fails to keep his attention.

_‘Oh… This show again…’_

**’If you could not refer to Dr. Sexy MD with such disdain, I’d appreciate it.’**

_‘I don’t entirely understand the appeal of the show to you. Out of all the movies and shows you’ve shown me, this one always seemed to be the outlying one.’_

**‘Everyone’s got a guilty pleasure show, Cas. Besides, what’s not to like about Dr. Sexy MD? Plenty of drama, girls slapping people left and right - and then there’s the man himself, of course.’**

_‘The Doctor?”_

**‘Doctor _Sexy,_ thank you very much.’**

_‘You do seem particularly fond of him.’_

**‘Part of the whole ‘guilty pleasure’ thing, Cas.’**

_‘Is it the cowboy boots?’_

**‘… _What?’_**

_‘I noticed you seem to have a certain, um… attraction… towards western related fashion, and the overall time period.’_

**‘Yeah, coz it’s cool as all hell. Your point being?”**

_‘Nothing… Just something I’ve noticed about you.’_

**‘Can’t help but feel like you’re judging me here, Cas.’**

_‘Of course not. You’re welcome to any fetishes you may partake in-,’_

**‘It’s not a fetish!’**

_‘If you say so, Dean.’_

The door to his room swung open at that moment, saving Dean from any further embarrassment. Sam walked through the door, looking a fair bit more rested than he had when he left, one of their old gym bags hanging from his hand.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam greeted him the second he stepped into the room, posture relaxing in relief when he sees Dean. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby that’s just been through some hellish trauma,” Dean replied with the fakest smile he can muster. “You look like you had no trouble getting to sleep.”

Sam shrugged in response as he dropped the gym bag by Dean’s bed before dragging one of the visitor chairs closer and flopping down in it.

“Kinda surprising-,” Dean added, catching Sam’s attention. “-Since I would have thought you and Eileen would be getting down to business.”

Sam upped his bitch face to max power, barely resisting the urge to shove his brother off the hospital bed when Dean wiggles his eyebrows up and down at him. “You know Dean, as much as I appreciate you taking an interest in my love life, could you _not_ do it in the creepiest way imaginable?”

Dean grinned unabashedly at his little brother, raising a hand over his heart. “Ah, I tease because I love, Sammy.”

_‘You’re a very complicated human being, Dean Winchester.’_

**‘Aint that the truth.’**

“Where is Eileen anyway?” Dean got round to asking, expecting to have seen Eileen trailing after Sam.

“Back at the bunker,” Sam answered with a jab of his thumb over his shoulder. “She’s looking after Miracle while we’re here.”

“You telling me she chose a dog over you? Oof -- that’s rough man.”

“Very funny,” Sam deadpanned. “Actually, she was trying to figure out how best to help _you._ She didn’t want to overwhelm you while you’re here, so she stayed behind to take care of the bunker.”

_‘It would probably be best not to antagonize your brother further on this subject, Dean.’_

**‘Yeah, kinda figured out for myself that I hit the limit, Cas.’**

_‘Just wanted to make sure. Since we now share a body, I would also feel it when Sam punches you in the face.’_

**‘Sammy won’t beat me up when I’m already broken… I think…’**

_‘Dean…’_

**‘Alright, alright, I’ll stop.’**

“How’s she doing, by the way?” Dean asked. “I mean, she’s died, then came back as a ghost, then been brought back to life, died _again_ , and then brought back again by something unknown… that tends to disorient people a bit.”

“Okay, I think. Obviously, she wants to find out what did actually bring her back, and why…”

“And more importantly – is it on our side,” Dean added. “Whatever it is, it’s gotta be powerful, right? It would be nice to find out we’ve got a major player on the board that’s fighting _for_ us. Especially if it can help us with the whole ‘remaking Cas’s body’ problem.”

Sam snorted with laughter. “Since when are we that lucky? Or ever have it _that_ easy?” 

“Wow. Way to be a pessimist, Sam.”

_‘He has a point.’_

**‘Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!’**

_‘Sorry.’_

“Hey, if something _is_ on our side that’s willing to fix everything for us, then I’ll be happy to be proven wrong,” Sam defended himself. “But just in case, I’m going to rely on research in the bunker to find us a solution.”

“I’m just saying, we shouldn’t leave it out as an option. We’d be stupid to ignore someone with _that_ much power who is willing to help us.”

_‘I know I’m supposed to be one your side… but I think Sam’s right. Perhaps we should just take Eileen’s return as a blessing and move on. Digging into things out of our control could potentially escalate the situation into something we can’t handle.’_

**‘I get that Cas, but… what if whatever this thing is has some crappy plans for us? Shouldn’t we get the jump on things early, find out what we can so we’re better prepared?’**

_‘We don’t know that. For all we know, something went wrong whilst Jack was bringing everyone back from Chuck’s culling, and Eileen took a little bit longer than everyone else.’_

**‘ _Just_ Eileen?’**

_‘It may have happened to others around the globe. We can’t know for sure.’_

**’I think we’d be seeing some news articles about people popping back into existence if that was the case.’**

“Dean!” Sam’s shout snapped Dean back into reality, his face displaying a strange mixture of amusement and bitch-face. “You’re doing the thing again.”

“Sorry, sorry – Cas likes to chatter.”

_‘I am talking no more than I typically would.’_

Dean chose to respond to Cas in his head with an echoing snort of laugher, nearly laughing out loud when he could _feel_ Cas’s scowl in response.

“It’s super freaky when you do that. Your eyes glaze over like you’re on some kind of a drug trip.”

“Having an angel riding shotgun does that to you.”

_‘My presence in your mind does not illicit any stimulant effects.’_

**‘Pretty sure hearing voices in your head is a common side effect of being high off your ass.’**

_‘I suppose that’s true. Though, I am not actually making any sound, rather I am sharing my own thoughts with you.’_

**‘Wait, does that mean you can hear my thoughts?’**

_‘Only the ones you direct at me.’_

**‘…What if I’m like… thinking _of_ you? Do you hear that?’**

_‘Again, only if you’re directing it at me. Though, judging by your reaction, I’m assuming you didn’t mean to share your thoughts with me earlier.’_

**‘…What thoughts?’**

_‘The one you had while you were dreaming; where you thought about how I was more than you deserve?’_

**‘Shit.’**

_‘I’m assuming you didn’t mean to direct that at me either.’_

**‘Dammit, uh – I mean no, but I guess I _wanted_ you to know it, but I wasn’t sure _how_ to say it, but that wasn’t really what I-,’**

‘Dean?’

**‘…Yeah?’**

_‘It was an incredibly sweet thought to have. And one I didn’t expect for you to have, so… I was very thankful to hear it.’_

**‘Oh, uh… then I guess you’re welcome. Also guess I should get better control over my thoughts…’**

_‘For your personal privacy, yes you should. And perhaps for selfish reasons, I hope you don’t._

**‘You hoping to hear some more compliments from me, Cas?’**

_‘It’s rare to get an opportunity to hear the inner truths of Dean Winchester.’_

**‘It’s a dangerous game.’**

_‘I don’t have much else to do up here. I’m more than willing to play.’_

Dean tried to pretend he didn’t feel a thrill rush through him at Cas’s playful tone in his head. 

“I don’t think I even want to know what you guys are talking about…” Sam’s voice barely filtered into his mind, almost like background noise. “You’re focusing on Cas about intensely as you focus on porn.”

That got Dean’s attention. “ _What?”_

“Oh, you heard that, did you?”

Dean was saved from having to answer, the door creaking open once more to reveal the tired yet smiling face of Doctor Sullivan peeking into the room.

“Ah, the Winchesters!” Doctor Sullivan exclaimed at the sight of them, gently closing the door behind him. “How’s my miracle patient doing?”

“Right as rain, Doc,” Dean replied, eyes dropping to the files Doctor Sullivan held in his hands. “That about me? Hope it’s good news.”

“I’m pleased to tell you that it is,” Doctor Sullivan reached his bedside, standing next to Sam and flicking through the files. “Blood tests came back good – no sign of infection. I was quite worried about the potential of tetanus wreaking havoc… Your vitals are looking steady, about as normal as you can expect in your circumstances.”

The doctor placed the files down on the small table next to Dean’s bed, turning back to face Dean with a friendly smile. “You mind if I take a look at your stitches?”

“If it gets me out of here quicker Doc, I’m about willing to do whatever you want me to. Not to say that I haven’t been enjoying your company.”

The doctor chuckled light-heartedly as he snapped on a fresh pair of latex gloves. “Alright… Can you give a go at leaning forward for me? Don’t strain yourself, and don’t worry if you can’t do it at first – your range of movement is likely to be limited.”

Dean nodded up at the doctor, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Sam was peeking around Doctor Sullivan, apprehension painted across his face as he watched him. The second Dean tried bending himself forward, his body ached in protest. He gritted his teeth through the pain, placing his arms behind him and pushing down on the bed to give him an extra boost. Doctor Sullivan had an encouraging hand on his shoulder blade, gently guiding him forward.

“ _God,_ that sucked…” Dean said with a sharp exhale, breathing heavily as if he had just finished running a marathon.

“Actually, it was incredible,” Doctor Sullivan told him, gloved fingers getting to work peeling off the bandage wrapped around his body. “Most partially paralyzed patients I’ve personally treated have been unable to do what you just did. With time, sure, but never on the first attempt.”

“Eh, what can I say,” Dean said with a shrug of his shoulders, glancing back at Doctor Sullivan with a grin. “Guess I’ve got an angel watching over me.”

“Hmm… I’m inclined to believe you on that one.”

**‘If only he knew, eh Cas?’**

_‘Most people tend to have some kind of a breakdown when they found out that we exist, so probably best not to tell him.’_

**‘No, probably not, Cas…’**

“Mr. Winchester I have to say, every time I examine you, it increases my desire to carry out a study on you.” Doctor Sullivan mumbled from behind him, gently poking and prodding at the tender flesh around his stitches.

“Uh, I’m flattered Doc, but I’m afraid you’re not really my type.”

“On behalf of my brother, I’d like to apologize.” Sam butted in, already looking tired of Dean’s antics after being back for all of fifteen minutes.

“And on behalf of _my_ brother, I’d like to apologize for his lack of a sense of humor. There anything you can do for him doctor, or is he a lost cause?”

_‘Would you both let this poor man do his job?’_

**‘Nothing wrong with making his job a little bit fun, Cas. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting jealous of our budding friendship. You worried he’s going to take your place as my best friend?’**

Dean knew better not to tease him about that anymore when he could physically feel the glare Cas was sending his way inside his head. It was like Cas’s grace was flaring up inside him, burning hot with… _something._ Anger? Sadness? Bitterness? Jealousy? Something negative, _that_ was for sure.

**‘Chill, Cas. I was joking. No one can replace you; don’t you worry.’**

Immediately, the burning sensation running through his veins cooled. He could still sense it’s presence, the power humming just below the surface. It was trippy when he thought about it for too long. It wasn’t _just_ Cas’s grace running through his body. It _was_ Cas. An entire angel just… chilling in his body.

Possession is _weird._

Doctor Sullivan finished his examination, wrapping a fresh bandage delicately around Dean’s torso, making sure it was secure and wouldn’t shift around. “Your stitches have healed at a _remarkable_ rate. I’m half-convinced you’re not entirely human, Mr. Winchester.”

“If that was the case, I would have been strong enough and fast enough to stop some random guy shoving me into a pole,” Dean said bitterly. “But hey, healing power’s a cool power to have, I guess.”

“As a medical professional, I’m rather biased towards healing powers being the best superpowers,” Doctor Sullivan pulled the gloves off his hands, tossing them into a nearby bin. “Now, if I know you well enough at this point, I imagine you’re going to ask me if you can go home now?”

“You read me like a book, doctor.”

“Well, personally, I’d recommend you stay at the hospital for a few more days. But… from a medical standpoint, I’m not _too_ concerned with you leaving today. So long as you promise me you’ll _take it easy._ You’re not _entirely_ healed yet, okay?”

“Look at me,” Dean blanched, gesturing to his legs atop the bed. “There’s not much I can do but ‘take it easy.’ What am I gonna do, run away?”

“No,” Doctor Sullivan said, crossing his arms and giving Dean a stern look. “But I can imagine you might try to do things you used to do and over-exerting yourself.”

“Don’t worry-,” Sam popped up from the chair, stretching out his back as he stands. “-I’ll be keeping a close eye on him.”

Doctor Sullivan nodded at Sam, unfolding his arms with a soft sigh. “If you’re sure, then I’ll go get things ready to discharge you from the hospital, Mr. Winchester.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Dean expressed his gratitude. “Not just for this, but y’know, helping save my life.”

Doctor Sullivan gave him a small smile in response, bobbing his head at Dean in acknowledgment. “It’s what I’m here for. Oh, and thank _you_ for being such an interesting patient. I may just have to write a paper on the man who defied all odds, then continued to amaze with his healing abilities.”

“Long as you make me sound cool and omit the part where I nearly threw up having my catheter removed - then I’m all for it.”

_‘That was a… surprisingly uncomfortable procedure.’_

**‘You mispronounced “agonizingly painful” there, Cas. At least I know I still got _some_ sensation down there…’**

_‘I was honestly shocked that wasn’t the first thing you asked upon waking up.’_

**‘What? If my junk still works?’**

_‘The thought was so loud in your mind that it was like you screamed it. It was a rather disorienting thing to hear upon waking with you.’_

**‘I mean… can you blame me?’**

_‘Speaking as an angel that has spent the past twelve years occupying a male vessel… I suppose not.’_

**‘And, y’know, since you’re sharing my junk now.’**

Cas’s silence in his head spoke volumes.

**‘I made it weird, didn’t I?’**

_‘Yes. Which is odd, since I’m usually the one that does that.’_

**‘Maybe we’re rubbing off on each other?’**

_‘Perhaps. That’s likely to happen when you spend twenty-four-seven sharing a mind.’_

**‘Hopefully, there’ll be enough research in the bunker to distract you from becoming a drunken, flannel-wearing, “too old to be hunting but too stubborn to give it up” hunter. And the quicker we get out of here to do that, the better…’**

_‘Why’s that?’_

**‘Coz the longer we stay here, the higher the chance the insurance company we scammed comes to make _sure_ I never walk again…’**


	5. Different Ways To Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting back into the wheelchair from the Impala was about as fun as getting out of the wheelchair – but at least this time he didn’t end up face-first on the floor, so... Dean considered that an improvement.
> 
> Sam walked ahead of him, leading them out of the garage and to the main entrance, pushing the heavy door open and holding it there for Dean to roll through. The door closed behind them with its familiar clang of locks settling back into place, and Sam stepped up to Dean’s side before freezing in place, the two of them staring at the impossibly long looking metal stairs of the bunker.
> 
> “...Dammit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: 'Dancing With Your Ghost' by Sasha Sloan

I put the record on,  
Wait 'til I hear our song,  
Every night I'm dancing with your ghost,  
Every night I'm dancing with your ghost,

Never got the chance,  
To say a last goodbye,  
I gotta move on,  
But it hurts to try

_**-'Dancing With Your Ghost' by Sasha Sloan** _

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

Dean Winchester glared at the wheelchair they wheeled in for him like it was his worst enemy.

_‘Unless you plan to drag yourself everywhere you go Dean, you’re going to have to accept the wheelchair.’_

Dean huffed at the sensible words Cas was speaking into his mind, crossing his arms in the hospital bed like a child throwing a tantrum.

**‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it.’**

_‘And I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m only asking that you accept the fact that it’s a necessity for any sense of freedom in your life.’_

**‘Freedom? Trapped to a chair? How’s that freedom?’**

_‘Better than being bedbound, is it not?’_

Castiel was one hundred percent right, but it’s not like Dean was going to admit that.

Doctor Sullivan stepped into the room, scribbling away at some forms atop a wooden clipboard in his hands. “Alright, Mr. Winchester… You are officially free from our confines.” He finished signing something on the paper, looking up to Dean with an encouraging smile. “I see you still haven’t given the wheelchair a try?”

“I’m a bit worried it’s gonna ruin my look, Doc. Not really my style.”

“I think the wheelchair is a better look than me and Doctor Sullivan carrying you out here by your feet,” Sam pushed himself out of the chair he was sat in, stepping over to where they placed the wheelchair and wheeling it closer to Dean’s bedside. “C’mon, Dean. Just give it a try.”

_‘You said it yourself that you wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.’_

**‘Yeah, yeah, I know I did… Stop using my own words against me.’**

_‘If you’d really rather not do it, I could take over and get you into the chair. Doctor Sullivan would have to leave the room of course, or at least be distracted while I take over so he doesn’t see the flare of my grace in your eyes.’_

**‘Nah, it’s… As much as I don’t wanna do it, this is something _I_ gotta do, you know?’**

_‘Of course, Dean. I understand.’_

“So… how do I do this?” Dean directed his question towards Doctor Sullivan, glancing over the bed to the chair beside him. “Would be embarrassing if I fall on my ass trying to get out of bed…”

“You’re going to be relying on your arm strength, mostly,” Doctor Sullivan bent over the wheelchair, applying the brakes on the underside of the chair.

“Got plenty of that,” Dean’s comment elicited quite the snort from Sam, who respectfully hid his laughter behind his sleeve.

“I’ve applied the brakes for you, here-,” Doctor Sullivan pointed to the brakes he had just fiddled with. “You’ll have to disengage them before you move, otherwise – well – you won’t move.”

“Got it.”

“Now, with time, your arm strength is going to improve. Don’t feel disappointed if you can’t do much at once – it’s quite the shock to your arms when they’re used to shift your entire body weight constantly.” Doctor Sullivan said as he stepped to the end of the bed, placing his hands under Dean’s calves. “I’m going to help you turn yourself, okay? I need you to turn yourself, so you’re sat on the edge of the bed with your legs just hanging off the end.”

“Okay…” Dean got his arms behind him, pulling himself up. It was significantly easier with Doctor Sullivan holding his legs up, gently guiding him as he pulled himself inch by inch closer to the edge of the bed. He could already feel his biceps twinging in protest with every movement, chest heaving with the exertion of pulling his entire weight.

“That’s the first step done,” Doctor Sullivan declared once he was at the edge of the bed, gently lowering Dean’s legs down so they were just hanging over the edge. “Now, this is going to be easier to do since the bed is about the same height as your wheelchair. Hopefully, it’ll be the same at your home – otherwise you may need to rely on your brother or another carer to get you in and out of bed.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” Dean already hated the prospect of being such a burden on his brother, especially for something as simple as getting into bed. “I guess I just pull myself into the chair…”

“Essentially, yes.” Doctor Sullivan agreed. “You just need to brace yourself with one arm on the handle, then pull your body over and lower yourself onto the wheelchair. Again, I must repeat how important it is to keep the brakes applied at this stage, otherwise you risk seriously injuring yourself.”

Dean followed the doctor’s instructions, reaching out with his right hand to grab hold of the armrest of the wheelchair. He used his other hand to push himself over to the chair, damn near sitting on the hand he was using the brace himself. It was more of a staggering fall into the seat than it was a graceful descent, but Dean could at least take some pride in the fact that he landed in the somewhat comfortable chair and not on the hard plastic floor of the hospital room.

“And that’s all there is to it!” Doctor Sullivan exclaimed joyfully. “Same kind of method for getting _into_ the bed, and for chairs, things like that.”

Doctor Sullivan reached into his lab-coat pocket, pulling out a few colorful pamphlets and handing them over to Sam. “Any questions you might have, these should help to answer some of them. Plenty of advice in them too, such as exercises Dean can partake in to help strengthen his arm strength and core; things that’ll help make the transition easier.”

“Ah yes, pamphlets. The answers to all my problems,” Dean stuffed as much sarcasm into the words as he could, smiling mockingly up at the two of them.

_‘Dean… he’s just trying to help.’_

**‘You know, you’re slowly turning into my conscience, Cas. Somehow, hearing it through your voice makes me feel more guilty than if it was my own damn voice.’**

_‘Good to know I’m of some use up here, then.’_

“I have plenty of faith in you, Mr. Winchester. You’re going to adapt just fine to this new difficulty, I’m sure of it.”

“Hell yeah I will, Doc. I’ve just gotta mope about it enough to get special treatment from my brother.”

“Like you wouldn’t give me hell for treating you different,” Sam pointed out, folding up the pamphlets and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. “C’mon, we better get you home before Miracle starts missing you too much.”

_‘Miracle?’_

**‘Yeah? Miracle, she’s- oh! You didn’t get to meet her… Oh boy, do _you_ have a surprise waiting for you back home, Cas.”**

Sam walked behind Dean’s wheelchair, leaning down to switch off the brakes before grabbing hold of the handles at the back of the chair.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean’s words brought Sam to a stop.

“Uh… taking you home?” Sam clarified.

“Sam… what are these?” Dean asked, holding his arms out by his side.

“…your arms?”

“Bingo. And you see what I just did with them?”

“You… moved them?”

“Exactly. I can still use my damn arms, Sammy. So get your paws off my chair, and let me wheel myself outta here.”

Sam sighed at his brother's annoying sense of pride, taking his hands off the handles and holding them out in front of him in surrender. Dean nodded his head at him, turning his head back around to face forward before placing his hands on the wheels, pushing them forward and sending the wheelchair traveling towards the open door. Sam and Doctor Sullivan stood there and watched as Dean immediately collided with the frame of the door, listening to him curse quietly to himself as he reversed back from the door, then succeeded to go through and out into the hallway the second time around.

“I should probably run after him before he mows down a nurse or something…” Sam sighed, plucking up Dean’s hospital bag from the ground and heading towards the door.

“Wait, Mr. Winchester-,” Doctor Sullivan caught Sam by his elbow, stopping Sam in his tracks. “I didn’t want to bring it up while Dean was still in the room, but… I wanted to give you this.” He passed over a small white card over to Sam, the words **‘Dr. Ward’** printed out in sleek black ink, along with a phone number.

“What is this?” Sam asked, glancing from the card in his hands to Doctor Sullivan.

“It’s the number for a specialist I know. He deals in newly paralyzed patients, more particularly… their mental health. I’m not saying you _have_ to give him a call, but I wanted to give it to you so the option is there. Your brother is good at putting on a brave face, but it’s one I’ve seen many times before. Those that make it seem like everything’s alright are usually the ones that are suffering the most. I’m hoping you’ll never need to call that number, but… challenging times lie ahead for both you and your brother, and there’s nothing wrong with finding help.”

“Thanks, Doctor… I’ll, uh… I’ll see how Dean goes for a while, but… yeah, I’ll think about it.”

* * *

Dean had already made it to the parking lot before Sam had even left the hospital room. That’s where Sam found him, frozen in place in his wheelchair in front of the Impala. Sam didn’t even need to look at his face to know he was staring at her longingly. This… was one of the moments Sam was dreading. The moment that Dean realized…

“I can’t even drive her anymore, Sammy… I’m never going to be sat behind her steering wheel again.”

“You never know,” Sam tried to stay optimistic for the sake of his brother. “There’s always a chance, right? Maybe we can find something to help fix your legs in our research, too.”

“I doubt that, Sam. Besides, that’s not where we should be focusing our efforts. Don’t go distracting yourself with stuff like that; We’ve gotta find a way to get Cas back – that’s the priority.”

_‘Dean-,’_

**‘Nuh-uh, don’t you start with me either, Cas. You’re top priority, and that’s that. My legs can wait.’**

“Dean, you know that’s what we’re going to be focusing on. I’m just saying that after we get Cas back and we have another pair of eyes with us… it’s something we can look into.”

“I know you’re trying to keep my hopes up, Sammy. But I don’t want that. Sure, if we find something, then… that’ll be fucking great. But chances are that’s not gonna happen, and I’d rather not have my hopes raised and crushed and like that. So… the sooner I accept that this is my life now, the better.”

Sam looked ready to argue with Dean some more about that, which Dean was absolutely not having. He wheeled away from the conversation, rolling himself over to the Impala’s passenger seat. “Now c’mon, unlock this damn door before I find my own way home.”

Sam shot his brother an incredulous look, but pulled Baby’s keys out of his pocket anyway. “Yeah, how you gonna do that? You going to wheel yourself all the way home?”

“Don’t test me, Sammy. You might just see me rolling down the I-70.”

_‘I think he’d be more likely to see you as a red stain on the I-70’_

**‘Wow, Cas. That’s a dark thought.’**

_‘I’m just going with the most likely scenario to come from that.’_

Sam had jogged over to the passenger side by the time Dean pulled himself out of his own thoughts, grabbing hold of Baby’s handle and pulling the door open for him. Dean waved his brother out of the way when he went to help, rolling himself closer to the Impala until he was lined up parallel with the seat.

“Dean, the brakes-,”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Dean grumbled in interruption. He attempted to lean down, reaching for the brake, but found his body simply wouldn’t allow him to go that far. Sam watched his brother struggle in silence before it became too much, stepping closer to Dean with an arm outstretched. Sam flicked the brakes into place before Dean could utter a single complaint, moving away quickly to avoid a likely swat from Dean.

“I could have done that…” Dean mumbled darkly.

‘ _No, you couldn’t, Dean. There’s only so far your back will allow you to bend. I can feel the pain you feel too, I know where your limits are. I’m sorry, but you couldn’t have done that by yourself.’_

**‘Way to bust my balls there, Cas… God, I really am turning into Bobby, aren’t I? Pretty sure Bobby didn’t bitch as much as I did, though.’**

_‘You’re not Bobby. You are your own man, and the way in which you react to such a traumatic change in your life does not make you any less of one.’_

**‘Yeah? Then why do I feel like a useless sack of crap…’**

_‘Because you are the one used to helping others, not being helped. It’s who you are. Always the one to put others before him.’_

Dean stretched over to the Impala as far as his weakened back would let him, placing his palm down on her leather seats. With his other hand on his chair, he began pulling himself over, gritting his teeth in pain at the twinge in his back, his arms trembling with the effort. The gap between the chair and the Impala was too large, and Sam could see it happen before it even happened. Dean’s arm gave away the same time the chair tipped over, sending Dean sprawling into the asphalt with a pained grunt, getting the air knocked out of him upon impact.

Sam rushed forward to his brothers’ side in an instant, the fear of Dean’s wound reopening itself or potentially injuring his spine more than he already had springing into his mind.

“ _Fuck!”_ Dean cursed sharply, the single word echoing between the cars parked around them. He brought his fist down into the ground in his frustration, feeling the familiar sting of his knuckles splitting as they hit the hard ground of the parking lot. Sam knelt down by his side, one hand on the tipped over wheelchair and the other wrapped securely under Dean’s arm, ready to help him to his feet.

“Dean, _please,_ just let me-,”

“ _Don’t!”_ Dean snapped at him, directing his frustration with himself at his brother. “I can do this! I’m not going to be some fucking weight dragging everyone down.”

“You’re not,” Sam insisted strongly, squeezing Dean’s arm tight. “Dean, you’re not. And I know you can do this, but that doesn’t mean you can’t accept my help.”

 _‘Dean… please.’_ It was Cas’s pleading tone in his head, the pain he heard in that usually strong and resolved voice, a pain he knew Cas was feeling because of _his_ pain… that’s what made the anger running through his veins start to simmer.

_‘I know you want to prove you’re more than your injury. That you want to show everyone you’re stronger than it. But it’s not something you need to prove. We know you’re more than that. We know you’re stronger. Just the fact that you’re trying, and that you care more about solving my problems than even thinking about finding a way to heal yourself… There’s no one I admire more – and am proud to admire more – than you, Dean Winchester.’_

Dean slowly uncurled his fingers out from his clenched fist, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. Sam had remained silent- perhaps sensing that Cas was talking to him – his grip around Dean’s arm loose but still there, still ready.

**‘I’m broken, Cas.’**

_‘No, you’re not. Because you’re most than just your legs. You’re more than your ability to hunt. What makes you – “you” – is all up here with me. And accepting your brother's help, or anyone’s help for that matter, will not change that. You are not weak for accepting help. You are not “less of a man” for admitting you need help. Your brother is not offering help because he thinks you’re weak, but because it pains him to see you hurt yourself like this. He just wants to help, as I would in his position. It kills me to know I can’t help... But one day, you’ll be a master at this. It will become a part of your life as everything else is. But today? Today, you’re still injured, you’re still recovering. You’re new to this. So please… let Sam help you.’_

“Alright…” Dean caved, lifting up his arm to rest on the Impala’s seat above him. “Alright, Sammy… help me up.”

Sam took his hand off the wheelchair, shuffling behind Dean and pulling him up to a sitting position. He slid his arms underneath Dean’s armpits, straining with Dean’s weight as he pushed them both up, slowly pulling Dean up the side of the Impala until Dean all but collapsed into the seat. Dean dropped his head back against the seats with a heavy sigh, already feeling his arms start to ache from overuse.

Dean let his eyes close shut, waiting for Sam to finish up folding his chair and shoving it into the backseats (Baby’s trunk was far too cluttered to fit that in) before climbing into the driver’s seat. Sam shoved the keys into the ignition, twisting them until the sound of Baby’s purring filled the air, immediately putting Dean at ease.

“You okay?” Sam asked, glancing over at his brother.

“Yeah… I’m good,” Dean answered, his eyes still closed. “Thanks, by the way… For helping me.”

“Yeah, of course… You know it doesn’t bother me, right? Anytime you need-,”

“I got it, Sammy,” Dean cut him off. “I appreciate it, I really do. I just… I wanna go home.”

Sam’s lips pulled into a sympathetic smile at the exhaustion he could hear in Dean’s voice, nodding at him even though Dean couldn’t see him with his eyes closed. He turned forward in his seat, switching the gear into ‘drive’ and releasing the handbrake, smoothly pulling Baby out of the hospital's parking lot and onto the road.

**‘Hey, Cas?’**

_‘Yes, Dean?’_

**‘You are helping. I know you think you’re not, but… you are. More than I think you realize.’**

* * *

Getting back _into_ the wheelchair from the Impala was about as fun as getting out of the wheelchair – but at least this time he didn’t end up face-first on the floor, so... Dean considered that an improvement.

Sam walked ahead of him, leading them out of the garage and to the main entrance, pushing the heavy door open and holding it there for Dean to roll through. The door closed behind them with its familiar clang of locks settling back into place, and Sam stepped up to Dean’s side before freezing in place, the two of them staring at the impossibly long looking metal stairs of the bunker.

“Dammit...”

Dean couldn’t help it. Something about the genuine annoyance in his brother’s voice at the sight of the stairs got to him, cracking up into deep pearls of laughter that echoed around the bunker, hunched over as far as his back would let him.

“Sorry, Dean... I didn’t think about it,” Sam apologized, scratching at the back of his head as he tried to figure out what to do next.

“Yeah, I didn’t know what to do about that one.” Eileen’s voice filtered up from down below. Sam and Dean peered over the edge of the railing to see Eileen stood by the map table, craning her head up to see them. “I went out and bought some small ramps and set them up around the bunker on the smaller stairs, but... this one’s a bit too long to do that.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Sam asserted, looking from Dean to the stairs in front of them. “Maybe something like one of those-,”

“I swear to God Sammy, if you install a goddamn chair lift that eighty-year olds use, I will push you down these stairs.”

_‘Considering you’re going to need your brother's help to get down the stairs, I wouldn’t suggest that.’_

“Well… that might be the only option that works, Dean. Unless you have any better suggestions?”

“Whatever…” Dean grumbled under his breath, cautiously wheeling closer to the edge of the stairs. “So how we doing this? Gonna wrap me up in bubble-wrap and roll me down the stairs? Or just roll me down the stairs and hope for the best?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sam warned light-heartedly, glancing back to the stairs to see Eileen making her way up to them. “Our best bet is just carrying you down in the chair. Can you grab him by the handles of the chair, Eileen? Then I’ll grab him by the front and help steer you down.”

“That still sounds like rolling me down the stairs and hoping for the best.”

“Shut up and focus where you’re going,” Sam grunted, stepping around to the front of the chair. He took a single step back onto the first stair, leaning forward and grabbing hold of the handles near the bottom of Dean’s chair.

Eileen disappeared out of Dean’s sight, taking hold of the handles at the back of his chair. “I’m good. You ready?”

Sam nodded, keeping his eyes focused on where the chair was going. “Yep, Just take it slow, alright?”

And take it slow they did. Minutes ticked by as they crawled agonizing slowly down the stairs, inching the wheels down one by one. Even though Dean knew all Sam and Eileen were worried about was him falling out of the chair and hurting himself again, all _he_ could worry about was losing control of the chair and taking the two of them down with him.

It was both relieving and frustrating when they finally made it down to the bottom of the stairs, the concrete floor under his feet never seeming quite as safe as in that moment. Sam and Eileen looked rather proud of themselves for getting him down there, and Dean knew he should be feeling that way, too. Except… he hated everything about all that just happened. The fact that he wouldn’t have been able to go down some goddamn stairs if it weren’t for two other people helping him. The fact that _going down a flight of stairs_ -something that usually takes him five seconds at most - took around five _minutes._

“Who woulda thought, eh Sammy?” Dean glanced up at his brother. “From demons, to angels, to scribes of Gods, and then to God himself… my next enemy is going to be _stairs.”_

“And you’ll kick their ass, too,” Eileen assured him with a pat of his shoulders.

“I think it’s more likely the stairs will kick _my_ ass. Literally. When I fall down them.”

“You gonna keep making more jokes about you falling down the stairs, or you gonna go get that drink you wouldn’t shut up about the whole drive home?” Sam teased as he made his way down to the hallways leading to the rooms, brushing a hand across Eileen’s back in thanks as he went.

“You know the answers both, Sammy!” Dean called after him as Sam went, giving a dismissive wave of his hand before disappearing out of sight.

“Thanks, by the way,” Dean craned his head around to face Eileen. “For being here, helping out… I know things must be weird for you at the moment, what with the whole resurrection thing… again…”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Eileen leaned back against the map table, bracing her arms behind her as she spoke. “You, Sam, and Cas… you’re my family.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’re just here for Sam,” Dean grinned at the flush that spread across Eileen’s face. “Seriously, though, you being here? It’s what Sam needs right now. He, uh… he was crushed when you left. He understood of course, but… kid was pining hard for you. Wasn’t the same, you know?”

“Do you ever stop worrying about Sam’s wellbeing?” Eileen asked with an inquisitive smile. “Most people who get injured like to soak up every ounce of sympathy from others… yet all you can think about is others.”

“You said it yourself; you guys are my family. I don’t consider my injury a ‘problem’. Not one high up the list, anyway.”

“Hmm… first on the list goes to Castiel, I’m guessing?”

“We like to take turns. I’ll have a problem, then Sam’ll have a problem… Then Cas… It’s just Cas’s turn to step up to the plate.”

_‘Is that some kind of sports reference?’_

**‘Yep. Baseball.’**

_‘Oh, right – I think we watched a game at one point, didn’t we?’_

**‘Yeah, just the one. Jack wanted to know what it was all about - think he got kinda bored with it. Didn’t wanna say though coz he knew we were still watching it… Think the poor kid just wanted to boot up Netflix and keep on binging.’**

“Maybe one day you’ll solve the last problem,” Eileen suggested. “Well, the last ‘loved one at risk of death or worse’ kind of problem.”

“With us? You do know who we are, right?”

“Good point,” Eileen's eyes shifted over to the entrance of the hallway, something Dean easily spotted.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to keep talking to me out of pity, right?” Dean brought her attention back. “I’m not stupid, I know you want to go chasing after my little brother. Don’t let me keep you. Besides, Sam was right – I really _do_ want to go get that drink… been on nothing but water and IV fluids for the past few days…”

Eileen huffed out a laugh, shaking her head as she brought her arms in front of her and crossed them. “I can’t imagine _that’s_ what the doctor ordered.”

“Hey, I know _my_ body. A nice glass of ten-year-old malt is exactly what _I_ ordered.” Dean retaliated with a beaming smile, turning his wheelchair around and heading towards the hallway.

“Hey, Dean!”

Eileen’s call brought Dean to a stop, turning the chair back around to face Eileen. “Yeah?”

Eileen looked to him for a moment, the pause in their conversation lingering before she spoke. “Are you okay?”

This was a question Dean’s been asked many times before; Usually when he’s had his ass handed to him by whatever freak they’re hunting that week. Or when he’s fighting something within himself. Or when someone he loves dies – which is too often in their line of work. And nearly every time that question is asked, he’ll plant the best smile on his face that he can muster and say the same line every time – ‘I’m fine.’

This time? This time, with Eileen looking at him like she can already smell the bullshit lie he’s about to say, and with Cas staying suspiciously quiet in his head – listening in more like – he decides…

He’s done with lying.

“No, I’m not,” His answer seems to take Eileen by surprise, her eyebrows shooting up as she does one big blink in shock. “And I’m not gonna say ‘but I will be’ or something cheesy along those lines, coz’ honestly? I got no friggen’ idea if I’ll ever be ‘fine’ with all this. I’m just… dealing with it hour by hour, day by day. Besides, I got more important things to worry about right now.”

The corner of Eileen’s lips lifted in a sympathetic smile, lifting up her hand at chest height, palm down and parallel with her body. “Let me guess; this is where your problem is, and this-,” Her hand lifted up to above her head. “-Is where Cas is?”

Dean clicked his mouth, shooting a finger gun at Eileen. “Top of the list.”

“You know, one day you and Cas are going to have to tell me the whole story. How Castiel went from an angel of the lord, to an acquaintance, then to your best friend.”

“Kind of a long story. Twelve years in the making, you know.”

“Sounds like an interesting one though. From the family of God to the Winchester family…”

“Heh… Nah, he’s more than that. Cas is…” Dean paused, searching for the right words. What was Cas to him? “He’s… huh… he’s a bit of everything. There’s been times where he’s been my enemy, times where he’s gone behind my back… then there’s times where he’s thrown away everything he knows, everything he _believes in_ , to help us. Help _me._ Everything he’s done, everything he ever does _…_ it was always because he was trying to do the right thing.”

“Sounds like two other guys I know.”

Dean chuckled, dropping his head down. “Yeah… maybe we rubbed off on the guy. I’m pretty sure corrupting an angel is some kind of sin…”

“Considering how Cas is one of the only _good_ angels out there, I think ‘corrupting’ him was probably for the best,” Eileen said.

“Apparently our Cas is the only one we _could_ ‘corrupt’. Said so by God himself. All the other Cas’s stayed in line, but not this one.”

“Do I detect some pride in your voice?”

“Hell yeah you do. You know, Cas is… before I met him, I didn’t think there would be anyone I would care about as much as Sammy. No one else I thought I’d be willing to die for. Then Cas waltzed right in that barn and changed everything.”

Eileen smiled warmly at him. “Yeah… that sounds like ‘more than family’ to me.”

“Exactly. And that’s why he’s top of the list.”

“And probably why you guys get into so much trouble all the time,” Eileen pushed herself off the map table, patting Dean’s shoulder as she passed by him. “I think I’m going to head to bed – and you should do the same after your nightcap.”

“Already planning to!” Dean said in passing, having to resist the urge to punch himself in the face when he remembered Eileen can’t actually hear him.

_‘You know, I recall not too long again when Sam and Eileen were being held captive by Chuck that you did something similar. You-,’_

**‘Yeah I know, I answered her call and started talking. I’m a dumbass. That the point you were trying to make?’**

_‘Of course not, Dean. You were in a stressful situation and likely weren’t thinking clearly.’_

**‘Yeah? What’s new?’**

Dean carefully maneuvered himself down the matte black ramp Eileen had set up, thankfully not too steep so he didn’t go zooming down at uncontrollable speeds. Even though that sounded kinda fun…

The plan _was_ to head straight for the bottle of scotch he had stored in the kitchen cupboard, pour himself a glass and let the warming flavors soothe him to sleep.

Castiel decided he wanted to ruin those plans, however.

It was quite cruel on his part, in Dean’s opinion. Waiting quite literally to the last second, with the cap of the whiskey twisted off and seconds away from being poured into his favorite crystal tumbler when Cas interrupted him.

_‘Dean, I have to remind you of the Doctor’s instructions. They said not to drink any alcohol for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours whilst the medication is still processing through your system.’_

Dean groaned out loud at this, placing the bottle down hard on the kitchen island with a loud ‘thump’, very nearly spilling the precious amber liquid. **‘C’mon, Cas… Just _one_ drink isn’t going to hurt me.’**

_‘Perhaps not – but it’s best not to take the risk. If your body doesn’t react well, there’s nothing I can do to heal you._

Dean eyed the bottle in front of him for a while, letting Cas’s words settle in his mind. **‘Fine…’** Reluctantly, he scooped the cap back up and twisted it back into place. Dean placed the bottle and tumbler back in their usual resting places, staring mournfully at the closed door that contained them.

**‘You owe me a drink, Cas.’**

_‘And… how am I supposed to do that?’_

Dean smiled to himself in the quiet of the kitchen, wheeling himself back in the direction of his bedroom. **‘I think I have just the idea…’**

* * *

The bar Castiel found himself stepping into was familiar. Usually, it’s quite difficult to name particular bars as they generally all have the same feel; grimy tables sticky with various alcoholic beverages, worn and damaged bar stools, pools of blood and other liquids that he’d rather not think about stained on the cheap vinyl flooring.

This bar was… nice. Homey feeling. Soft rock music floated around the room from the old jukebox tucked away in the corner of the bar, sat upon wooden paneled floors which were spotless, matching the overall wooden appearance of the building. Neon signs advertising the bar's drinks adorned the frosted glass windows which hid the world outside – though Castiel guessed there wasn’t even an outside anyway. The barstools were cushioned and comfortable looking, their red cushions somehow without a single scratch or split on them. And there, behind the beautifully carved wooden bar with a pleased smile on his face and a glass of whiskey in hand, was Dean.

“I’m almost impressed,’ Castiel stepped further into the room, making his way over to the bar. “Seems you’re starting to get _some_ control over your dreams – forcing the location is a good start.”

“ _Almost_ impressed?” Dean lowered the tumbler from his mouth, looking almost offended. “I managed to conjure up a whole freaking _bar._ What’s not to be impressed about?”

“For one, you didn’t ‘ _make’_ this bar. Michael did. It exists as a memory within your mind – which you were able to entice your mind into recreating for your dream. That’s the part that’s impressive.”

Dean took a seat on a stool he had dragged to his side of the bar, taking a seat and gesturing with drink in hand for Cas to take a seat of his own. “So why are you ‘ _almost’_ impressed?”

“Well, If I were to guess, you’ve spent nearly a third of your life in bars,” Castiel pulled the barstool out, dropping himself down and leaning his arms on the miraculously non-sticky wooden top of the bar. “It’s almost cheating to assume your brain wouldn’t create dreams of bars without your intervention.”

“Okay, first of all? Screw you,” Dean downed the last drops of whiskey in his glass, turning around to pour himself another glass from a new selection of whiskeys adorning the wall behind him, missing the tender smile that hitched at Cas’s lips from his teasing. “And _second_ of all, what you drinking?”

“Water’s fine for me.”

Dean turned back around, shooting Cas his most disgusted look. “Wow, Cas, uh, calm down? Don’t go _too_ crazy.”

Cas rolled his eyes, leaning back from the bar. “I’ll have whatever you’re having then.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dean cheered, ducking down to grab another tumbler from under the bar, pouring a drink for both him and Cas. “Could always go the Crowley route, you know? Nice fruity cocktail with one of those little umbrellas in it.”

Dean slid the glass across the bar, which Castiel easily caught with his hand. “Considering I barely have any sense of taste, there’d probably be no point.”

“Seriously?” Dean sat back down on his stool, leaning back against the wall behind him. “I’ve seen you drinking before though? Why’d you bother if you can’t taste it?”

Castiel shrugged, spinning the glass absentmindedly on the table. “Do you drink alcohol _just_ for the taste?”

“Point taken,” Dean raised his glass to Cas, the two of them sharing small smiles as they clink their glasses together. The two took simultaneous sips of their drink, and Dean noticed Cas’s brows raising in surprise, raising the glass up to his eyes and looking at the amber liquid inquisitively.

“Something up?” Dean asked, resting his glass on the bar. “Don’t worry, I didn’t poison you.”

“I can taste this,” Castiel’s voice was alight with curiosity, raising the glass up the dimmed lights that hung above the bar.

“You can? How?”

“Not sure,” Castiel placed his glass back on the bar, done with his inspection. “I have two theories; The first being that, since we now share a body, your memories of the taste of alcohol are accessible to me. So, if I drink or eat in your mind, I will taste it, feel it and smell it in the way you remember eating it.”

“Huh. So, if you tried eating something I’ve never eaten before, you wouldn’t be able to taste it?” Dean asked, crossing his arms and leaning them on the bar.

“Possibly. Unless the reason is my second theory; that this is all a result of my diminished grace. The closer I am to being human, the more human abilities I will adopt – senses being one of them. This no longer tastes like ‘molecules’ anymore. I can feel the warmth as it slips down my throat. I can taste the hints of honey and cinnamon and… I believe that may be apple?”

“Alright, so either way – you can taste stuff now,” Dean raised his glass in the air. “That’s gotta be a bonus, right?”

“I suppose. I do miss the taste of a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich…”

“Well then, you better hope your ability in tasting isn’t based on my memories. Coz from my memory, grape jelly sucks.”

“You don’t like grape jelly and peanut butter sandwiches?” Castiel sounded as if the thought of such a thing was a crime.

“I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Dean clarified. “But I don’t like _grape_ jelly.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t taste like grapes!” Dean slammed the glass down on the table, this time hard enough for the drink to slosh over the side and onto the bar. “It tastes like… the color purple.”

“The color purple has a taste?” Cas clicked his fingers, effortless cleaning up the spilled whiskey.

“Yep. Grape flavor stuff. The grape-flavored Gatorade? Not grape-flavored, it’s purple flavored. Grape candy? Nope, purple flavor again. It tastes like… sugar and processed crap. Can’t be good for you.”

“Says the guy on his second glass of whiskey – since _I’ve_ been here.” Cas raised a good point. “How many did you drink before I entered your dream?”

“None of your business…” Dean finished off his sixth drink of the night, the narrowed eyed look Cas was sending his way only going to show that he wasn’t getting off the hook _that_ easy. “Besides, what does it matter? It’s in my dreams, right? Doesn’t actually affect my real body?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Cas conceded, still sipping on his first drink of the night. “If you can have free reign of the drinks you have in your sleep, does that mean you’ll reduce the amount you drink when you’re awake?”

Dean’s head jolted back, a half-amused half confused look plastered on his face. “You don’t want me drinking anymore?”

“I know you stopping completely will never happen. But I’d like you to slow down, yes.”

“You gonna tell me why, or…?”

“It’s because… Dean, you’re getting older-,”

“You sure do know how to make a guy feel pretty, Cas.”

“I wasn’t finished,” The narrow-eyed look was back again. “In the times when you were injured on a hunt and you permitted me to heal you… I’d… I’d clear our your system, too. Remove any toxins, heal any damage to your liver, clear out the build-up in your arteries…”

For some strange reason, Cas actually looked _guilty_ to be admitting this. He was practically hunched over himself, staring down intensely at the glass between his hands, ignoring Dean’s burning gaze on him.

“Oh… That was, uh… that was nice of you to do, Cas.”

This at least got Cas to break his intense staring match with his whiskey, risking a glance up to see Dean’s reaction. “I didn’t mean to overstep boundaries, I just…”

“You wanted to help, I get it, Cas. It’s okay.”

Cas relaxed marginally at this, releasing the tension in his shoulders and taking another sip – albeit slightly larger than before- of his whiskey.

“So, how often did you do that?” Dean asked, shifting one foot to rest on the bottom of the bar stool, the other hanging off the edge of the stool. “I didn’t get hurt _that_ often – and you didn’t always heal me for every little boo-boo I got.”

The panic was back. Dean could see the subtle changes in Cas; the brief widening and blank look in his eyes, face set in stone so Dean couldn’t read a single emotion on his face – which was actually what gave him away. This was Cas reverting back to his classic angel mode.

“I suppose I, um… there were occasions where I would try to be… close to you. Standing side by side at interviews, next to each other in the kitchen or at the map table… I would take the opportunity then; A touch of the hand, legs bumping under the table, my shoulder brushing against yours… Any time there was even the slightest of contact, I would send over some of my grace. Heal the minor damage inside that you usually can’t see – or don’t keep track of.”

Now _that_ … that happened a lot. He had long since given up reminding Cas about personal space and just accepted that that was how Cas was. But now he thinks about it… did Cas ever stand that close to Sam? To Jack? To _anyone else_ but him? No… no, he didn’t. It was just something that became the norm for them, it was how they were with each other, and now Dean was so used to it that he didn’t even bat an eye when he felt Cas’s arm against his, or when Cas scooted so close to Dean at the table that he as may as well have been sat in his damn lap. That was just… _Cas._

Now, at least, there was reasoning behind it other than ‘just because.’ And it was a logical reason, a kind one even, for Cas to be doing that for him. Except… why did he feel _disappointed_ with the reason? He should be feeling relieved about it, right? That Cas wasn’t invading his personal space for the hell of it?

“Oh…” Dean shuffled on the stool, dipping his eyes down to the bar. “So, uh… you were doing all that _just_ to heal me?”

Dean could feel Cas’s eyes burning a hole through him now, forcing his gaze back up to meet Cas’s intense one. Intense, yet… almost sad.

“You know that’s not the only reason.”

Cas had uttered the words so soft, so quietly that Dean almost didn’t hear him. Like Cas intended for those words to be heard for him and him alone, even though there wasn’t another soul in sight. And yeah, maybe he _did_ know the other reason. Maybe he’d been keeping it buried down, pretending that it had never happened. That Cas had never told him those things… Because even now, months after he had said them, after Cas had made them his final words to him, even with Cas _back…_ he still doesn’t know what to do with them.

He hadn’t really tried, truth be told. After Cas had died, the pain of it was still too raw, and thinking about it only ripped the wound open further. He thought it’d be easier to lock the memory away, keep it out of sight and out of mind and find a way to... to move on. It seemed impossible – to keep Cas in his memory, yet simultaneously try to forget about him. Clearly, it hadn’t worked. He might as well have had Cas’s smiling, tear-streaked face etched into his eyelids.

Then, with Cas back… it was as if Cas was trying to forget about it, too. Which Dean can’t exactly blame him for. After all, the poor guy had probably assumed he would _stay_ dead after making such a confession. Easier to pretend it never happened than confront it – at least, that was Dean’s personal motto. Plus, with all they have on their plates (again….), it was probably pushed to the back of both their minds.

Which is why none of this makes sense. There’s a part of him that _wants_ to talk to Cas about it, but… he still hasn’t processed it all. Not really. He had no idea what to say to Cas in that very moment, the Empty and Billie breathing down their necks, about to lose his best friend in the worst time of his life. Now, in a relaxed and cozy bar with literally _no-one else_ that can hear them, safe in his own mind… Dean still doesn’t know what to say to him.

But the liquid courage running through his veins sure knew what to do.

Dean downed the last of the drink for that _little extra_ bit of drunk idiocy, turning the glass upside down and slamming it down on the bar with a grin. “C’mon, finish your drink,” Dean nodded his chin at the glass in Cas’s hand, the stool underneath him screeching across the floor as he stands.

“What for?” Cas asked, though brought the glass of whiskey up to his lips anyway, the last of the drink disappearing steadily.

Cas copied Dean’s prior movements, turning the glass upside down and placing it next to Dean’s glass. It was only once Cas looked up at the shy grin on Dean’s face, a single eyebrow raised up as he waited patiently that Dean moved. Cas turned on his stool to follow Dean as he stepped around the bar, coming to a stop in front of Cas and offering out his hand to him. Cas’s eyes flicked up from Dean’s outstretched hand to Dean’s face, still not getting what it was Dean was trying to do.

“Twelve years on this Earth, Cas. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance.”

“…Because I haven’t?” Cas eyed Dean’s hand suspiciously, hand twitching by his side as he resisted the urge to reach out and take it.

“Hmmm…” Dean hummed, inching his hand even closer to Cas. “How ‘bout we change that?”

Dean could see the moment it clicked in Cas’s head. His eyes were wide like a deer caught in the headlights, looking to Dean as if to try and figure out what weird and cruel joke Dean was trying to play on him. There was no joke. There was no ulterior motive. Hell, not even _Dean himself_ knew why he wanted to do this. He only knew that he wanted to. It was kind of weird, it was _all kinds_ of terrifying and _definitely_ not what two guys do in their spare time, but hey – this is just a dream, right? People have weird dreams all the time. It’s not like his minds trying to tell him something or anything like that…

Castiel swallowed harshly, that partly terrified look still on his face that Dean remembers seeing the day he took him to that brothel. Except, this time, Cas was resting his hand in Dean’s, not some random chick that would be throwing stuff at Cas’s head less than a minute later. Cas’s hand was calloused like Dean’s, both of their skin marked by scars and roughened by years of wielding weapons. The warmth of Cas’s hand bled into his skin, his grip around Dean’s hand tight with nerves, thumb resting lightly over Dean’s pulse point. It was strange that, even in his dream, Dean’s heart was pounding hard in his chest like it would if this was really happening – which Cas definitely had to feel from his pulse in the unlikely event he couldn’t _hear_ his heart going crazy.

Why was he so nervous about something as simple as dancing? Sure, he’s no master at the waltz, but it’s not like he’s at some fancy big-wig party trying to blend in with the rich folk. It was just him and Cas, after all.

Well… that was his answer, he supposed. It wasn’t _just_ Cas. It was _Cas._

“I… I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do,” Cas admitted as Dean led him to the center of the bar, the room spacious and perfect for just this occasion.

“I don’t know about dancing either,” Dean replied with a shrug of his shoulders, lifting up his other hand and placing it tentatively on Cas’s back. “We’ll figure it out as we go. It’ll come natural.”

It did come natural, as it turned out. Almost a little _too_ natural. Cas’s hand rested between his shoulder blades like it was always meant to be there, placed directly over where Dean knows his wound exists in the real world. Cas’s grip had slackened somewhat, his nerves lessening as they swayed together.

From the outside, it was probably the most awkward-looking dance in existence. They didn’t sweep each other across the floor with the graceful movements of a professional. It was more of a… stumbling step and shuffle, a few winces occasionally shared between them as they inevitably stepped on each other's toes.

But… that made it all the better. Moments like that got them giggling quietly in the tranquil space between them, smiles plastered on their faces that would be hard to wipe off as they shambled around the room to the hushed chorus of ‘All My Love.’

Of course it was a Led Zeppelin song.

Of _course._

“This is one of the songs you put on the tape you gave me,” Cas pointed out part way through the song, feeling coordinated enough now to dance and talk at the same time. Mostly…

“Another guilty pleasure,” Dean said with a sly smirk. “Dad was always embarrassed to admit he liked these kinds of tracks, too. Guess that passed on to me.”

“Well, I like it.”

Dean snorted. “Course you do. Would be foolish to label the tape “Top ten tracks” if they weren’t the greatest of the great, wouldn’t it?”

Cas broke his gaze away from Dean’s, looking instead to their joined hands held out in front of them, fumbling slightly in his steps as he does so. “Did you mean it?”

Dean frowned at him, racking his brain for what Cas could be referring to. “Did I mean what?”

“When you were talking to Eileen… You told her I was ‘more than family’. Did you… did you mean it?”

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” The answer came surprisingly easy to Dean. He should have fumbled over the words in his head, any logical part of his brain shut down as panic took over. That’s what _should_ have happened, but it didn’t. “It’s hard to say what you are to me, Cas. Family is all I’ve ever really known, the only thing that was important to me. So putting you in there made sense, you know? And you still _are_ there, but… dammit Cas, you’ve been my longest friend. It feels like… it feels like my mind wants to put you into another category. It just doesn’t know _what that is._ ”

Dean had been expecting for Cas to look disheartened after that. He knows it’s not what Cas _wants_ to hear, but… he _can’t._ He doesn’t know _how_ , all he knows is that he wants his best friend back. He wants for everything to be fixed, for Cas to be shoved back into his body and then… they can go from there. Hell, maybe they _will_ fix his legs. And then maybe Dean will be stupid and keep hunting despite the clear wake-up call, and Cas will tag along even though he’s pissed at him for carrying on because he’ll always feel the need to watch over him.

He wants things back to the way they were. And Dean _knows_ that’s what he wants.

He _knows_ what he wants.

He’s sure of it…


	6. Dead Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean could see just how bad of a state the guy was in; dark bruises were littered all over the man’s pale skin, multiple cuts and lacerations decorating every piece of skin Dean could see, oozing out streams of dark blood that stained the button-up shirt of the man’s suit.
> 
> ‘Jesus… what the hell are they doing to the guy?’
> 
> ‘That’s not a “guy”, Dean…’
> 
> ‘Huh?’
> 
> ‘I recognize the man… that was the last vessel I saw Atheed possessing…’
> 
> ‘You telling me the Men of Letters managed to trap an angel?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> Chapter Song: 'Forest Fire' by Brighton

When you were young you used to dream about fires,  
And scream into the night,  
To find me standing barefoot at your side,  
I used to whisper it will be alright,  
And lay down at your side,  
And take your tiny hands into mine,  
And how,  
Was I to know,  
I'm not strong,  
I should have saved you and,  
Oh,  
I hope you know,  
That you're my home,  
But now I'm lost, so lost

_**-'Forest Fire' by Brighton** _

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

Dean found himself waking up the next morning to the delicious smell of bacon wafting down the hallway and into his room. It was this – and only this – that convinced Dean to haul himself out of the comfort of his warm bed and pull himself into his chair.

He had only just settled into the chair when there was a light rap of knocks on his bedroom door. He looks up to see Sam poking his head through the gap he cracked open in the door, eyes briefly scanning across the room before landing on Dean.

“Oh, good, you’re up! Thought if the smell of bacon wouldn’t get you of bed, then nothing would…”

“I’m always happy to be woken up for bacon, Sammy.”

Sam glanced at something behind the door, chuckling quietly to himself before returning his attention to Dean. “There’s someone here that’s dying to see you…”

Dean didn’t even have time to ask Sam who he was talking to before Sam opened the door a tad bit wider, giving enough room for a blur of fur to shoot into his room, claws skidding on the concrete floor as Miracle runs to him.

“Hey, girl!” Miracle was jumping excitedly at his wheelchair, desperate to get as close to Dean as possible. It didn’t even seem to faze her that Dean wasn’t _quite_ the same as he was when he left. She just cared he was home.

_‘Is… is that a dog?’_

**‘Yeah! This is Miracle!’**

Miracle had managed to get her two front paws atop of Dean’s legs, and Dean got the jarring feeling again when he realized he couldn’t actually _feel_ her weight on his legs. He didn’t have much time to ponder over this as Miracle had reached his face, running her slobbering tongue everywhere she can reach.

“Blegh – Good to see you too, girl.” Dean lightly pushed her away from his face, ruffling his hands along the sides of her face.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Sam said through his chuckles, backing out from the doorway and disappearing down the hallway. “Breakfasts waiting – don’t let it go cold!”

_‘Oh - this was the surprise you were talking about?’_

**‘Yep! You don’t sound too surprised?’**

_‘Just… processing it. I didn’t think you were much of a dog person?’_

**‘Eh, not really… But ever since Colonel, they’ve earned a bit more of my respect.’**

_‘The… German Shephard that was a witness to murder?’_

**_‘That’s the one. Sometimes I think about making that disgusting potion thing to talk to Miracle. I never did learn what dogs were put on Earth for…’_ **

_‘…What?’_

**“Uh, nothing, nevermind. So, you wanna meet her?’**

_‘Am I not doing that right now?’_

**‘Not properly! You should take control, meet her right! Give her a good scratch behind the ears.’**

_‘You want me to take over? You’re sure?’_

**‘No Cas, I’m not sure; I’m worried you’ll take control of my body forever and kill my dog. Yes I’m sure you dumbass, now get up here!’**

Miracle was able to pick up the change immediately. The second the familiar green eyes of her owner turned into that dazzling blue, her furiously wagging tail came to a stop. Yet, she did not move from her position. She didn’t back away from him in fear like Castiel was expecting her to.

“Um… hello,” Castiel greeted the dog leaning on his lap awkwardly.

_‘Dean, I’m worried I’m going to startle her.’_

**‘Why? Can she sense you’re an angel or something?’**

_‘Dog’s have incredible senses, far beyond what humans are capable of. It’s likely she can feel my grace inside you, perhaps even smell it.’_

**‘…What does grace smell like?’**

_‘It varies from angel to angel. The scent typically expands out to the vessel, so it’s likely you may even be able to pick up on the smell if you were close enough.’_

Cas stretched out a tentative hand towards Miracle, slowly moving his hand as not to spook her. He stopped his hand right in front of her snout, to which Miracle gave him an eager sniff.

**‘Huh… that’s kind of cool, actually. Is it kind of like humans, where our body odor can smell different to other people?’**

_‘Not entirely the same, but similar. A human’s scent is used for mating purposes, typically. If a person has a pleasant smelling odor, it’s because their immune system is vastly different to yours.’_

**‘And that’s good for mating because…?’**

_‘Because then if you were to have a child, their immune system would be the strength of both of yours combined. It’s nature’s way of increasing your offspring’s chances – of course, humans have adapted so well in most countries that infant mortality rate isn’t much of a problem anymore.’_

**‘Huh… you know a strange amount about humans, Cas.’**

_‘Well, it was my job to watch over them for millennia’s. There’s not much else to do but learn about them.’_

The longer Miracle spent sniffing Cas, the faster her tail began to wag – going from a steady swing back and forth to a blurred mess of fur. Castiel wasn’t too sure why, but the sight brought a warmth to his chest and a joyful smile stretching across his face. Miracle only became more excited at the sight of his smile, trying to pull herself up even closer and bury her head into his hands for more scratches and pets.

**‘Think it’s safe to say she likes you, Cas.’**

Even Dean was smiling within his own mind, watching as his best friend bonds with his _other_ best friend.

_‘I like her, too. Her fur is addictingly soft.’_

**‘Great for cuddles.’**

_‘Dean Winchester cuddling a dog? I’m sorry I missed such a sight.’_

**‘Says the big scary angel of the lord that’s practically melting in her paws…’**

_‘You think I’m scary?’_

**‘Now? Nah, but only because I know you wouldn’t hurt me… _too_ bad. But when I first met you? Yeah… when you showed me your wings for the first time, I was both in awe and seconds away from pissing my pants.’**

_‘As soldiers of God, I suppose it makes sense that we were created to have a fear invoking appearance. In fact, when he was still in Heaven, Gabriel would often regale the story of talking to the shepherds; how he had to call after then to not be afraid as they ran away…’_

**‘I think _I’ve_ heard of that story before… wasn’t it in the Bible?’**

_‘That it was. Gabriel begged for the story to be passed onto the prophets…’_

**‘Sounds like Gabriel. And _that_ sounds like my stomach growling… Let’s get this show on the road, Cas; bacon’s awaiting.’**

Switching possession was still a strange feeling for Dean. It was almost like trying to squeeze past someone in a tight corridor, going from this muted and out of focus vision to a sharp and overwhelming reality.

Miracle happily trotted alongside Dean as he wheeled down the bunker’s hallways, plastering on a smile as he descends the little ramp over the stairs into the kitchen. Sam and Eileen were situated behind the kitchen counter, Eileen sipping on a fresh cup of coffee whilst Sam finished up plating a towering stack of fluffy pancakes.

“Morning!” Eileen was the first to spot him, lowering her mug back down and returning Dean’s warm smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Good, actually,” Dean answered honestly, wheeling himself over to the kitchen island and eying up the food goods on display; an appetizing spread of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and – the newest addition from Sam – a plate of pancakes.

“You guys make all this?” Dean was fighting himself tooth and nail not to snatch a piece of bacon for himself (and slip a piece for Miracle….)

“Yep,” Sam replied, looking proudly to the spread. “Eileen cooked up the bacon and eggs. Thought you might want some good eggs and not my rubber eggs.”

“Good call,” Dean had given in to the urge, speaking through a mouthful of perfectly crispy bacon. “Surprised you’re not serving me those egg whites only omelet and fake bacon…” Dean paused, glancing down frantically to the half piece of bacon in his hands. “Wait, unless-,”

“It’s real bacon,” Sam assured him, though rather disapprovingly as he began shoveling some eggs onto his own plate. “I’m not _that_ cruel.”

“You did it before! Brought home that synthetic crap from the store…”

“It tastes just the same!” Sam argued over his shoulder, searching through one of the cabinets for their depleting bottle of maple syrup. “ _And_ it’s better for you.”

“It does _not_ taste the same,” Dean grumbled in response, accepting the freshly poured cup of black coffee Eileen passed over to him. “And _that’s_ why I don’t let you go shopping for groceries on your own anymore.”

_‘Sam does raise a valid point, Dean.’_

**‘Oh no. Don’t you start with me too, Cas. I’m already sacrificing my whisky for you, do _not_ ask me to give up my bacon on top of that.’**

“I was starting to worry when the smell of sausages cooking didn’t rouse you from your slumber,” Sam commented, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Good thing the bacon did the job, or I’d have assumed you passed in your sleep.”

“Eh, what can I say,” Dean shrugged his shoulders, wheeling himself and his plateful of food ( _very_ carefully…) over to the kitchen table. “Getting stabbed through the back _really_ takes it out of you. Plus, you see this face? Doesn’t stay this pretty at my age without some beauty sleep, Sammy.”

“You’re not _that_ old,” Sam scoffed. “Besides, since when do you sleep in till noon?”

Dean nearly spat out his mouthful of coffee, frantically shoving his flannel sleeve back to check the time on his watch. Yep, just as Sam had said, his watch blinked back the numbers ’12:23’ at him in bright white lettering. “Huh… would you look at that…”

“You have a good dream you didn’t want to wake up from something?” Sam joked, having no idea how close to the truth he actually was.

“Something like that. Man… can’t remember the last time I slept _that_ long. You know, without being knocked out or forced unconscious, or anything like that.”

“Obviously, your body needed the sleep,” Eileen commented, finishing off her last triangle of toast and placing her leftover scraps of sausages and bacon on the floor for Miracle to feast on (which she _definitely_ didn’t leave on purpose). “Doesn’t matter how much drugs the hospital pumps you with; you’ll never have as good of a night’s sleep as you do in your own bed.”

“Amen to that,” Dean stretched out his arms in front of him, listening to the satisfying cracks and pops of his elbow and shoulder joints. “So, what’s the plan for today? Straight to the library, skim through books till we’re bored to tears?”

The happy go lucky smile on Dean’s face slowly slipped away as he saw the anxious looks Sam and Eileen were sharing. Uh oh… That was never good. That was the look of ‘we have something we need to tell you, and we know you’re not going to like it’. Dean _hated_ that look… especially since he knows he’s been one to sport the expression for himself many times over the years.

“Uh, actually…” Sam begun, looking to Eileen for help. “Eileen actually kinda… found a case… while you were in the hospital.”

“Oh…” Dean squeaked out, the remaining few bites of pancake left on his plate no longer looking as appetizing as they did a few seconds ago.

“I wasn’t looking for one,” Eileen stressed that fact, guilt already twisting at her features. “It’s… it’s kind of been all over the news, actually.”

“Yeah, and that’s kinda the reason we’re bringing it up,” Sam added in, backing up Eileen. “From what we think we know… there’s already been seven deaths connected to this thing.”

“Jesus… _seven?”_ Dean couldn’t believe he hadn’t caught wind of this himself. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had been actively searching for a case these past few days…

“We did some more research into it this morning. We’re pretty sure it’s a simple salt and burn job – a day, maybe two. It’s local too, just a few towns over.” Sam told him.

“And you’re… what, asking me for permission?” Dean wheeled himself over to the sink, focusing on dropping his plates into the soapy water rather than on Sam and Eileen’s matching looks of guilt.

“No, just… wanted to let you know is all,” Sam forced the words out rather awkwardly, unsure whether to keep in place or walk over to Dean. “We, uh… we’ll be heading off in about twenty minutes. We’ve already burnt enough daylight, so…”

“Yeah, course. Sure,” Dean forced out, pushing down the bitterness that wanted to enter his tone. “Don’t want to be the one that’s holding you guys back like I have all morning, so don’t hang around for me or anything.”

“Dean-,” Sam tried, taking a single step towards him. 

“It’s fine, Sammy,” Dean snapped, holding out an arm to stop Sam from getting any closer. “Seriously. You two can watch each other’s backs, so I’m not worried there. You guys need any help, then – y’know – don’t know there’s much I can do but, guess you can call me; be whatever FBI director or whoever you need to call if the local badges start asking questions.”

“Dean… you know we wouldn’t be doing this usually, but… with the hunt so local and so many people already dead…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean brushed Sam off. “Go. Really, go on the hunt. I’ll be fine here. Get some research done for once.”

“We won’t take long,” Eileen assured him. “We want to help Cas, too. We’ll be here for that, we promise.”

“Uh-huh. You guys better get going then. Don’t let me stop you,” Dean rolled away from the two of them before they could say anything, forcing himself back up the ramp and down the bunkers hallway, which never seemed as long as it does now.

Miracle, ever loyal, trudged on after him, slipping into his room before he slammed the door. Turns out that slamming the door is more difficult when in a wheelchair, having to grab hold of the edge of the door behind him and force it backward. It didn’t quite make the echoing slam the heavy wooden doors usually do, which only pissed him off more. What’s the point of slamming a door if the person you’re mad at can’t feel it shaking through their bones?

**‘You not gonna say something? Tell me off for getting snappy at them or some crap like that?’**

_‘I thought that if I remained silent that you wouldn’t direct your anger at me. Clearly, that didn’t work. I get that you’re frustrated Dean, but it’s not fair to direct that at Sam and Eileen. They haven’t done anything wrong-,’_

**‘Haven’t done anything wrong!? I haven’t even been home a day and they’re already ditching me for a hunt!’**

_‘Are you saying you wouldn’t do the same in their place? Knowing that seven innocent people have already lost their lives?’_

**‘No! I mean… maybe… it’s just… I _just_ got home. Now I’ve got to sit around here doing nothing while they’re out there working?’**

_‘I know you want to be out there with them, Dean; but Sam and Eileen are just doing what’s right. And I think you know this, otherwise, you wouldn’t have been provoking me into “telling you off”.’_

**_‘Really don’t like how much of me you’ve figured out after being in my head for like, three days.’_ **

_‘Does that mean I was correct in my assumption?’_

Dean sent over a slightly blurry, staticky, barely put together mental image of his middle finger over to Cas, hoping it’d ruffle some feathers.

It did.

_‘No need to be rude, Dean. I think I’ll retreat for a bit while you get over your temper tantrum.’_

**‘ _Temper Tantrum?_ Seriously? You treating me like I’m five - is that it? That how you think you’re gonna solve things?’**

Cas stayed true to his word, only silence filling the gap in his mind which Cas’s words typically took up.

**‘Temper Tantrum… say’s the guy that’s giving me the silent treatment. Now _that’s_ childish.’**

Silence. Nothing but silence and his own thoughts echoing in his mind.

**‘ _Fine._ Be like that. I’ll go find my own damn work to do…’**

* * *

The library never felt quite so empty and… _boring._ Sure, he still had Miracle, who was curled up in her memory foam dog bed that Dean had dropped a few pretty pennies on (and still hasn’t told Sam about the actual price). As great as she was for company, it turns out that dogs aren’t so skilled in the whole conversation part of companionship. Unless you count Dean talking to her in that way people talk to their dogs - which he once found annoying but would now be a hypocrite to say so.

Dean had scoured through all the book titles that seemed to allude to any information on angels and vessels – well, those on the bottom of the bookshelves anyway – and now had them neatly stacked on the table in front of him. Sam and Eileen had long since left the bunker, wisely choosing not to say goodbye – or anything for that matter – disappearing into the garage and leaving him here. The hours had ticked by way too slow, the words on the page in front of him starting to blur together and become an incomprehensible mess. He had re-read this particular passage on the comparisons of the limited real-life encounters with angels to their bible counterparts about five times now, but his brain was stubbornly refusing to take any of that information in.

Dean slammed the thick-binded cover closed, choking back a cough when it kicked up a mini mushroom cloud of dust, sliding the book across the table away from him. It was all starting to feel pointless. He knew that angels were pretty elusive creatures in the supernatural world, but he had no idea it was by _this_ much. Damn near every book on angels, or any mention of angels in any creature encyclopedia he’s scanned through all seem to have the same message of “we’re talking out of our ass here”. All these books were nothing more than guesses based on other supernatural creatures. And sure, yeah, they got _some_ of those guesses right from the limited knowledge of angels he’s got from Cas, but there was no guarantee on any of the info. What if they find something that _can_ bring Cas’s body back, but it’s another hypothesis? What if it goes wrong? What if it doesn’t work at all? What if messes Cas up on the transfer, especially if they need to use all of Cas’s grace for it to work, and-

_‘You’re panicking.’_

Dean startled in his chair, Cas’s voice joining the spiraling thoughts in his mind for the first time in a good few hours.

**‘What?’**

_‘Your heart rate has increased to a hundred and five beats per minute and you started screaming in your head again.’_

**‘Oh, and so you decided to take pity on me and stop the silent treatment?’**

_‘I decided it was best to interrupt your incoming anxiety attack before you put too much strain on your healing body. And it seems to have worked, considering you’re converting your worries into pettiness and directing it at me once again.’_

**‘I get it, Cas. I’m being a dick. That what you wanted to hear?’**

_‘I was hoping for an apology, but I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.’_

**‘Damn straight it is. Now, you gonna help me here for what?’**

_‘Help you how?’_

Dean pulled the next book out from the top of the stack, thumping it down on the table and flipping it open to the first page. **‘You can put your special angel eyes to use and help me find _something_ of use in here.’**

_‘My… special angel eyes?’_

**‘Yeah. What, you telling me an angel's eyesight is the same as a human’s? That the high and mighty angels of the Lord were cursed with the same pathetic eyes as the mud monkeys-,’**

_‘Dean, you know full well I do not look down on humans like my other brothers and sisters occasionally do.’_

**‘I know, Cas. Was making a joke. I’m just saying, could use a second pair of eyes as I read through this. Point out anything I might miss. Which I will. A _lot.’_**

_‘I’ll try my best.’_

Another two hours passed in companionable silence, the only sounds in the library being Miracle’s snuffled snores and the occasional flip of the ancient and fragile papers under Dean’s fingers. Cas hadn’t said or anything to him in that time – or pointed out something that Dean had skipped over – which only made Dean feel all that more disheartened about this whole ‘creating a body’ idea. He hadn’t really considered the possibility that the idea might not be possible… He had just assumed he’d find _something_ about it in one of the Men of Letter’s countless collection of books and that _eventually,_ it would lead them to somewhere.

‘ _Dean… what’s that?’_

**‘What’s what?’**

‘ _At the end of the table. Where you scratched your names into the table. Is that…?’_

 **‘Oh, right. Didn’t show you…’** Dean wheeled himself over to the end of the table, the beginnings of a smile on his face as he looked down at the names crudely carved into the wood. **‘After we came home, we, uh… added you and Jack to the table. Bunker felt damn quiet and I, uh… It’s stupid, but I went back into the dungeon. Thought maybe… I dunno, maybe you’d still be there. You weren’t of course, and… next time I saw the table, I realized we should have added you _long_ ago. Should have had the opportunity to carve your name yourself, but… yeah…’**

_‘Oh…’_

**‘You’re… okay with this, right? I’d ask Jack too but, y’know…’**

_‘I’m more than okay with it, Dean.’_

**‘You good, man? You kind of sound like you’re about to cry. You’re… not about to cry, are you?’**

_‘No…’_

**‘That didn’t sound very convincing.’**

‘ _Didn’t sound very convincing to myself, either. Dean, do you… do you mind if I take over for just a moment?’_

**‘Uh… sure, Cas. Go ahead.’**

Castiel pushed himself into the front of Dean’s mind, waiting for his grace to settle into full possession. He pulled himself closer to the table, reaching out with Dean’s hand and placing it down on the carvings. As gently as possible, he traced the letters of his name with his finger, ignoring the sharp bite of the rugged edges. _His_ name. It was _his_ name that Dean had taken the time to painstakingly carve into the table, both his and Jack’s resting alongside the Winchesters like they were always there.

**‘I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to add your name sooner.’**

_‘I never expected you to. Which is why, perhaps, this is… affecting me more than I thought it would.’_

**‘Yeah… one of the things that made me realize how crappy I can treat you sometimes, Cas. Hell, you should have _demanded_ to have had your name added here.’**

_‘I would never demand such a thing, Dean. This is… a very personal decision that only you or Sam could have decided, and I… truth be told, I don’t have the words to say how much this means to me.’_

**‘I don’t think you need words when you’re making my eyes cry, Cas.’**

_‘Oh, sorry – I’m still not used to your body…’_

Castiel raised a hand to his eyes, finding that Dean was telling the truth when he wiped away the tears that were moments away from spilling over. He gave one last look to the names on the table, one last touch to the aged wood before handing Dean’s body back to himself.

 **‘Guess we better get back to researching… good old research…’** Dean held back a groan as he wheeled back over to the seemingly never-ending pile of books stacked on the table.

_‘Probably for the best, yes. Actually, I was thinking before… I wonder if any of these study pieces are by Lilly?’_

Dean closed the cover to the third book they had been smimming through, pushing it over to the ‘completed’ pile at the other end of the table. **‘Who’s Lilly?’**

_‘Lilly Sunder. You don’t remember her?’_

**‘Oh. Course I remember her. Huh, I didn’t consider it… She did say she had studied angels, didn’t she?’**

_‘Devoted her life to us. Both in scientific curiosity and… for revenge. I know her studies were from a long time ago, but it’s a possibility that her work could have ended up here. Perhaps under a different pen name, though.’_

**‘Why would she use a different pen name?’**

_‘Lilly was working on her studies back in the turn of the nineteenth century. The world wasn’t exactly accepting of women who were interested in the scientific field – especially when that involved mixing science with religious aspects. Trying to theoretically dissect a biblical creature back then… even a man in that field would receive quite the backlash.’_

**‘Right… Wow, humans suck, huh?’**

_‘You have your moments of beauty, just as you can have moments of cruelty. I like to think that you’re still maturing as a species. Someday, there will be nothing left but beauty.’_

**‘Very poetic, Cas.’**

Dean couldn’t muster enough energy to pull another book towards him, rubbing at his tired eyes with a frustrated groan. He leaned back in his chair, glancing around at the books on shelves that surrounded him. “All the knowledge in the friggen’ world… but _nothing_ of use.”

_‘We don’t know that for sure.’_

**‘Doubt we have enough time left to comb through _every_ book here, Cas.’**

That gave Dean an idea. He perked up in the chair, swiveling his head towards the file cabinets that lined the back of the room. **‘Maybe it’s not in the books… maybe the Men of Letters did some research themselves? There could be something in their files!’**

_‘It’s a possibility. Though, I do not know of any angels that were in contact with the Men of Letters during the time period they worked in.’_

Dean wheeled over to the first cabinet on the left, guessing that anything to do with angels would be stored under the ‘A’ section. **‘You say that like you were aware of _every_ angel's movements.’**

_‘Not myself, but… As I’ve said before, angels rarely visited Earth before the start of the apocalypse. Only specific cases that were deemed necessary for intervention by those higher up.’_

Dean’s finger stilled at the file he had reached, feeling a kick of hope burst in his chest at the title: ‘Angel Exorcism – Exorcising An Angel Whilst Leaving The Vessel Intact.’

**‘Cas? You heard of something like this?’**

‘ _An angel exorcism? Other than the relic you used on Lucifer whilst he was possessing your president… Typically, the only way to ‘expel’ an angel is for the vessel themselves to revoke their permission.’_

**‘You think it’s possible?’**

_‘I don’t see why not. If humans have found a way to place such magic into a relic… it’s a possibility.’_

The file – though, it was more of a folder – was made from thick parchment paper and had been written up by a typewriter. Much to Dean’s excitement, within the folder was a reel of film that was labeled with the same title as the file.

_‘Dean… I don’t see what this has to do with recreating a vessel.’_

**‘I’m just counting our blessings that there’s something angel related in these cabinets. _And_ there’s talks about the vessel here, too. It’s worth a watch at least, right?’**

A few minutes later (and a near tip over on a ramp that Dean would rather not mention), they found themselves in the projector room. Dean pulled out the old reel stored within the projector, feeling a fresh wave of sadness wash over him when he recognized it as the tape of Mr’s Butters that Jack had found. Dwelling on those feelings never led to anything good, so Dean hurriedly shoved the other reel into the projector slot and pressing the play button before any more thoughts of Jack begin to settle into his mind.

A grainy mess of greys and whites sparked to life on the screen, frames flickering past until the image of a man in a sharply dressed man came into view. Ah, seemed it was their favorite Men of Letters, Sinclair… Dean could recognize the room as their dungeon room, the sigils painted on the ground looking freshly painted. Behind Sinclair, just out of view, sat a battered-looking man in a chair. His hands were bound in a familiar-looking pair of silver cuffs, head slumped down in apparent unconsciousness. Next to the chair was a wheeled table, a silver tray sat atop bearing tools that Dean couldn’t quite identify yet.

“Experiment Number two-zero-seven for the Men of Letters Archive. This experiment is led by me, Mr. Cuthbert Sinclair. And my assistant behind the camera is one of our new initiates of The Men of Letters, Mr. Henry Winchester.”

_‘Henry Winchester… your grandfather?’_

**‘Yeah… On dad’s side. I didn’t really think about how much he did in the Men Of Letters; I just knew he died after Abaddon possessed that other chick that joined the same time he did.’**

“Now what we have here… is a rare occasion. The second I’ve seen. Most of humanity believes angels to be God’s messengers… there to pass on the good Lord’s words to those that are meant to hear it. Some believe them to be God’s minions, there to dish out miracles when God is… unavailable. Neither of these are true. Angels are _soldiers,_ created to carry out God’s dirty work… And if one ever decides to bless you with their presence? Well, I’m afraid to say that a miracle is the farthest thing that will happen to you…”

Sinclair turned away from the camera, which followed him as he stepped up the side of the man still slumped over in the chair. He had come more into focus now, and Dean could see just how bad of a state the guy was in; dark bruises were littered all over the man’s pale skin, multiple cuts and lacerations decorating every piece of skin Dean could see, oozing out streams of dark blood that stained the button-up shirt of the man’s suit.

**‘Jesus… what the hell are they doing to the guy?’**

_‘That’s not a “guy”, Dean…’_

**‘Huh?’**

_‘I recognize the man… that was the last vessel I saw Atheed possessing…’_

**‘You telling me the Men of Letters managed to trap an _angel?_ ’**

_‘It seems so…’_

**‘You know this angel?’**

_‘Not too well… We had occasionally crossed paths I suppose, but… I wouldn’t say I “know” him, no. Atheed’s garrison had been dispatched to survey a particularly troublesome band of demons who had managed to fatally wound one of us… the demons were dispatched with, but Atheed never returned. It was assumed he fell in battle, but… now that seems not the case.’_

“Now, our inhabitant here hasn’t been particularly talkative… Some of the hunters under our employment were working on a typical demon case when it seems our winged foes here took a particular interest… One was left severely injured once the dust had cleared, and our hunters thought it best to bring him here for _help.”_ Sinclair clicked his mouth and shook his head in disappointment, using his index finger to lift up the angel's chin. “A shame most will never know the true evil of these creatures… these beings with unfathomable power we foolishly believe to be our side…”

Sinclair let the angel's chin drop back down to his chest, turning his face back to the camera and flashing a smile. “See, here’s the thing – best thing we can do for most is to take this here-,” Sinclair gestured to the tray next to him, pointing directly to the angel blade – which likely belonged to the angel in question. “-And rid the world of one of these things… but in doing so, we create waste; somewhere hidden in there, crushed by the weight of this creature, is a human being. A devout believer tricked by this angel’s silver tongue. Some may say that they already sealed their fate when they agreed to possession… but as I said, angels can be _very_ persuasive. Why should this innocent man have his life cut short? Why isn’t there a way to remove the angel, but keep the man inside alive? Today, we’re going to try just that with a little theory of mine.”

Much to Dean’s confusion, Sinclair then proceeded to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt. Then, Dean caught sight of the thin silver chain wrapped around his neck, leading down to a small glass vial that Sinclair lifted up to the camera. The vial contained a bright liquid-like substance, it’s color hidden by the black and white footage. Not that Dean needed to see the color; he already had a feeling he knew what that swirling mixture inside the bottle was…

_‘It’s… it’s grace. Atheed’s grace.’_

“The last time we had access to an angel, we were able to perform another experiment; finding a way to extract an angel of their grace to see the effects it had on the angel, and to see what uses the grace can provide outside its host. I have repeated the same procedure here, but this time I have not extracted _all_ the grace. You see, when we first performed the procedure, we expected for the removal of the grace to also remove the angel. Not so, unfortunately. It simply stripped the angel of their power, leaving them mortal… taking over control from the vessel. So this time, our angel here still has some of his grace left, but not much. Barely enough to keep himself an angel.”

Sinclair dropped his hand away from the vial, now reaching for a small box contraption sat atop the tray. He picked it up, thumb hovering over a plastic window which encased a big red button that gave Dean some serious villain type vibes.

“For our next step, we will be moving our angel outside the bunker. If things go right, there shouldn’t be a mess to clean up, but for safety sake, this is best done outside.”

Just as Sinclair had said, the footage shifted from grainy footage of the bunker interior to a shot of the forest outside the bunker. Atheed was still sat in the same chair, handcuffs still secured around his wrists, but now he seemed to be regaining consciousness. He was clearly out of it, eyes half-lidded as he blearily took in his surroundings, barely having enough strength to lift his head up from his chest. As usual, Sinclair was stood next to him, though this time a few steps away. The contraption was still sat snugly in his hand, that infuriating smile remaining plastered on his face. Strangely, Dean could see a few wires extending out from Atheed’s body, trailing down from his chest to the ground, connected to the contraption in Sinclair’s hand.

“Not only will we be removing the angel… but my hope is we are also able to _kill_ the angel. The amount of Grace it has left is dangerously low – not enough to survive a transfer to another vessel. And these cuffs here are helping to dampen that even more… Otherwise, our angel here would have fled long ago. The only thing keeping this angel alive, to exists in this plane… is the vessel he resides in. So, it goes to say that it would be in his best interest to keep the vessel alive, wouldn’t it?”

Sinclair flashed one last smile at the camera, gesturing for ~~the cameraman~~ _his grandpa_ to step back. Henry did as he was told, walking backward from Atheed as Sinclair followed him at a leisurely pace. The camera panned around to reveal a makeshift cover of sorts, a few sandbags hastily put together in the form of a wall, just enough space for two men. Henry settled behind the sandbags, camera pointed towards Atheed as Sinclair took his place behind the cover next to Henry.

“Our angel has had some… _minor_ surgery beforehand. That is to say, we’ve stuffed him with a few pieces of explosives. Small pieces of dynamite. We left an opening for the wires to be connected to the detonator in my hand.”

**‘They’re… they’re _insane. They’re just going to blow this guy up_?’**

_‘I… I feel sick. I’m not sure if I can watch this…’_

“This is a risky theory, but… it’s the best we got. We need to put the vessel through some _serious_ damage. _So_ damaged that the angel will be forced to intervene. In its last-ditch effort, the angel will use what’s remaining of its grace to heal the vessel. But in doing so… it will have burnt through all that remains of its grace. We are left with the human, fully healed and soul still intact, whilst the angel… has been burnt out from the body. Dead. That is the theory, anyway. All that’s left now… is to see if my theory rings true.”

If Dean wasn’t so desperate for answers, he would have shut this torture porn off long ago. Instead, he – and in turn, Cas – were forced to watch the horrific event unfold. Sinclair flipped the little plastic covering of the detonator up, pressing his thumb into the big red button as casually as one would call an elevator. What was once Atheed disappeared in a spray of meaty chunks within a fine mist, the chair underneath reduced to a pile of singed timber, half of it thrown across the forest by the blast. As disgusting as it all was, Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from the carnage. He was waiting to see those chunks of flesh on the floor start to connect back together, the spray of blood on the floor to collect and go back to its rightful body.

That didn’t happen. For a good ten seconds they could only stare at the stain on the floor that moments ago was a human being _and_ an angel, four observers spanning across two centuries watching as an experiment fails quite spectacularly.

“Damn!” Sinclair exclaimed, tossing the detonator in his hands to the floor. “Experiment number two-zero-seven… has failed. Both the angel and human in our possession have been terminated… General conclusion seems to be that the angel did not have enough grace left to heal its vessel… Perhaps, if we’re given the opportunity again, we can repeat the experiment – but reduce the amount of grace we take from the angel…”

The frames begun to flicker, left on Sinclair’s pondering expression as the tape began to wheel down to nothing, the projector shutting off and plunging Dean into darkness. He had yet to say anything, nor had Cas. He could only stare vacantly at the blank projector screen, hoping that the image of that angel being blown into little pieces would eventually disappear from his vision.

**‘Cas… you okay?’**

‘ _No. That’s – what they did-,’_

**‘Yeah… I know…’**

_‘I know that the relationship between humans and angels have been complicated at best, but… to think the Men of Letters were capable of doing such a thing… To see us as nothing more than an ‘experiment’, it’s…’_

**‘It’s messed up. After all that, we’re no step closer to finding anything that’ll help you. I really thought there would be something in there, and… Jesus, I can’t stop thinking about how my Grandpa had a part to play in it… I guess they saw angels as… monsters. A threat to humanity.’**

_‘Our mission was to watch over humanity… We lost sight of that somewhere along the way. Now, though… I’m hoping things will change under Jack’s rule.’_

**‘You think he’ll make more angels?’**

_‘It’s a possibility. He has the power for it, even before he absorbed Chuck’s and Amara’s power. It would certainly help to stabilize Heaven, reducing the chance of the souls there being cast out and locking out those that are supposed to ascend.’_

**‘If only we knew what the kid was doing… would be nice if he dropped in every now and then, you know? A phone call maybe.’**

_‘…Huh…’_

**‘Huh? What’s “huh” supposed to mean?’**

_‘Nothing really, just… for a moment there, you sounded like a stereotypical grumpy father.’_

**‘Yeah? Well, we have a friggen’ _God_ as our kid – you expect me not to be a little grumpy that he up and vanished on us? Are you not kinda pissed too, Cas? I mean – you _died_. And he didn’t do anything about it. Not even when you came back.’**

_‘I’m not going to say I understand why he hasn’t intervened in everything that’s happened since, but mostly… I miss him.’_

**‘I miss him too, Cas. I’m still pissed, but… I don’t know, maybe it’s more disappointment than anything. I thought – hoped, really – that once we dealt with Chuck we would all have a bit of a break. Chill in the bunker for a bit or, hell, maybe we’d finally take that beach vacation. Jack would probably go all giddy over the concept of sand-castles…’**

_‘That sounds nice… I think Jack would have loved that.’_

**‘It’s easy to forget he’s only what, three? Maybe four? Our new God is the son of _Satan_ who is four years old… that’s not a recipe for disaster or anything, right?’**

_‘He hasn’t gone crazy with his newfound power and tried to bend everyone to his will yet, so he’s doing marginally better than I was.’_

**‘That’s… one way to look at it. And you were, what, a sprightly couple of billion years old?’**

_‘Not sure. I stopped counting somewhere after the eight billionth birthday.’_

**‘Well, if it makes you feel better Cas – you look damn good for your age.’**

*** * ***

It was rare for Dean to have a good dream.

This was something Castiel had learned over the years. Even though Dean would often voice his displeasure at him about watching over him as he slept, Cas would continue to keep an eye on his slumbering form. Occasionally, he would look into Dean’s mind to see what dream was playing out. If it was a nightmare, he would simply place his hand on Dean’s shoulder and ebb a little bit of grace through him, flushing out the nightmare from his system. It was the least he could do, and Dean always seemed to be that extra bit more rested when he did it – so he never really stopped.

That was until he lost his wings and the boys moved into the Men of Letter’s bunker. It was easier before when he could just fly over to whichever sleazy, rundown motel they had stopped in for the night and keep himself hidden while he watched over Dean. He knew that there was nowhere safer for Dean to sleep than in the sigil covered bunker, and yet… that urge to watch over him always remained.

Nightmares were a common occasion for Dean. That was to be expected of course, with all the unimaginable horrors he’s been through in his short forty-one years on Earth. Now that Castiel was residing within his head, he could finally brush away Dean’s nightmares whenever he stepped into them.

This nightmare, however…

It had caught him off guard. It had felt as if he had woken up to the nightmare himself. At first glance, he was certain he had entered Dean’s memories of Hell. The heat was unbearable, stifling him of any air. The room he was in was packed with smoke, filling his lungs and making it near impossible to breathe. Flames licked down the walls, the ceiling above him ablaze with red-hot flames. There, in the center of the ceiling, were the charred remains of who Castiel was certain to be Mary Winchester. Even though she was nothing more than a burnt corpse, she still screamed in agony, the sound piercing as it echoed around the room.

This dream… it wasn’t acting out like the actual horrific event had. At this point, John Winchester should have already been in the room. He should have been there to witness his wife pinned to the roof; stomach ripped open as the flames erupt. Dean should have run into the burning room, should have had his baby brother placed into his arms and commanded to “Get your brother outside as fast as you can. Now, Dean - Go!” from his father.

Instead, Castiel stood frozen at the sight of Dean, _four-year-old Dean_ leaning over the white crib, its paint peeling from the intense heat as Dean tries desperately to reach for baby Sam within. The sounds of young Dean’s panicked cries as he reached for his screaming brother were overwhelming and heart-breaking, but it was what Castiel needed for his mind to kick into gear.

What he _should_ have done was force the nightmare to disappear. Except, he wasn’t really thinking. More… he was acting on instinct. He had rushed forward, using his arms to shield himself from the embers that danced in the air as he raced towards the crib. Within seconds he had plucked baby Sam from the crib, holding him close to his chest as he wrapped his other arm around Dean, hauling him up and tucking him into his side.

Castiel could feel the burning heat behind him as he ran, pieces of the ceiling collapsing as the fire raged on. His lungs burned with every inhale of smoke, each breath resulting in a choking, spluttering cough that left him gasping for air that wasn’t there. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, matching his rapid steps down the damaged and soot-covered staircase. He very nearly ran into the closed front door, bracing himself before bringing up a leg and slamming it into the weak spot next to the lock. The door flung open from the force, the doorframe splintering and sending shards of wood flying. Cas ran through the front door and into the front yard without looking back, keeping his hold on Sam and Dean tight.

The first few breaths of fresh air were wonderful, and he would have collapsed to his knees and sucked in as much as he could if it weren’t for the two children he held in his arms. Little Sam was still wailing in his arms, struggling against the hold of a man who, technically, was a stranger to him at the time. Dean had since gone quiet, trembling in Cas’s arms as the two of them watched what was once Dean’s home burn.

“It's okay...” Castiel whispered to the two boys in his arms, lowering himself down into the damp November dew-covered grass and watching as the roof of the house collapses in on itself. “You're okay, now. I have you.”

“Is Sammy okay?” Deans' first question came in the form of a frightened child’s broken, trembling voice. A boy that was trying to be brave - even in the face of absolute horror.

“Sammy's fine. He’s a little shaken up, but he’s okay.” Cas lowered his arm down to Dean’s level, who immediately peered over the crook of Cas's elbow to keep a watchful eye on his baby brother.

“Thank you, Cas.”

Cas's eyebrows shot up at the mention of his name. "You know who I am?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, his eyes still glued onto Sam. “You’re my angel. Mommy says you watch over me.”

“I... I suppose I am your angel, yes. Your mommy’s right – I do watch over you. Well, _big_ you, anyway.”

“I know,” Little Dean asserted, reaching out to trail gentle fingers down his little brother’s face, the soothing touch quietening the young boy's wails nearly instantaneously. “Big me say’s you’re my bestest friend in the _whole_ world.”

Despite the horrific situation that was currently playing out in Dean’s subconscious mind, Castiel couldn’t help but let a small smile curl at his lips. “In the _whole_ world, huh? Wow, that’s quite the honor.”

“Big me doesn’t have many friends,” Little Dean continued, the words dampening Cas’ smile just a bit. “Anyone he tries to get close to seem to… go away. Kind of like mommy and daddy did.”

Castiel tightened his hold on Dean a little bit more. “Yes… you’ve been through a lot – the both of you.”

“I have lots of friends at school!” Little Dean’s voice brightened considerably. “It’s not big school yet, mommy calls it kin… kinder…”

“Kindergarten?”

“Yeah! I started not long ago, and my friends are really fun! But… do you think I can keep going to kindergarten now?”

It pained Castiel to see those hopeful young eyes peering up at him, looking to him as if he held all the answers. The real Dean – at least, the Dean he knows today - is there inside this young child’s mind. _That_ Dean knows what comes of this day, of what is waiting for him; and yet, to tell this innocent child the truth… it seems unfathomably cruel to do so.

“I, um… I think that might not happen, Dean.”

Dean’s hopeful gaze slipped, dropping his head back down to look to Sam. “Yeah… I don’t think so either…”

“You will get through this, Dean. Both you and Sam – you’ll grow up into the two most important men on this Earth. Not only will you save the world, but the _entire_ Universe – and all the other Universe’s to ever have been created.”

“We will? Me and Sammy?”

“You will.”

“But… Sammy’s so _tiny._ ”

Castiel chuckled quietly, looking down to the baby in his arms that was barely heavier than a bag of flour, eyelids drooping shut as he began to feel comfortable in Castiel’s hold. “He is right _now_ , yes. He’ll grow to be taller than you, though.”

“ _What!?_ That’s no fair! _I’m_ the big brother! I should be biggest!” Dean pushed out his bottom lip into a pout, looking from Sam to Cas with big, wet eyes that Cas is sure got Mary to cave into Dean’s demands once or twice.

“If it helps - even though he’s taller - Sam still looks up to you. No matter what.” Castiel assured him.

The pout disappeared just like that, the first smile he’s seen from young Dean this night appearing on his face. “He does?”

“Of course he does. It’s what you two do; always looking out for each other.”

“And you!” Dean insisted, leaving no room for argument. “Big Dean and Big Sam look out for you too, like you watch over us!”

“Yes, you do,” Castiel agreed gently. “You always do.”

The last of the flames were dying out now. The house was left as a pile of blackened wood, the bare-bone frames of it barely standing after the damage. Smoke billowed up from the remains, blocking out most of the clear night above them. It was almost beautiful; the last of the dying embers glowing softly amidst the pile of soot and rubble – like an abnormally large bonfire.

“Cas?”

Castiel tore his gaze away from what was once the Winchester’s family’s house, eyes landing on Dean’s searching stare. “Yes, Dean?

Little Dean glanced away from a moment, watching baby Sam’s peaceful sleeping face before risking another glance up to Cas. “Can… Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course, Dean. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Little Dean paused, looking to him for a moment before scrambling up to his feet, leaning closer to Cas and cupping his small hands around Cas’s ears, whispering, “Big Dean is really, _really_ scared.”

“He is?” Castiel asked, just about able to see Dean’s head furiously nodding up and down out of the corner of his eye. “What is he scared of?”

“That he’s going to lose you again.”

Dean had whispered it no louder than his last statement, yet he might as well have yelled it for how hard the words punched him in the gut.

Dean was stood by his side now, bracing himself against Cas’s shoulders as he waited patiently for Castiel to speak. It was jarring, seeing Dean like this. He was so used to Dean being the taller one than him - and now, even standing, Dean just barely reached his chin whilst he was kneeling down.

“Can I tell you a secret too?” Castiel asked, keeping his voice as hushed as Dean was. Dean eagerly nodded his head, eyes wide as saucers as he waited for Cas to spill his secrets. “I’m scared of losing you, too. And it never goes away. That’s what happens when you love someone.”

“Big Dean doesn’t like feeling scared.”

“Oh, I know he doesn’t. Could you do me a favor, then? I need you to tell Big Dean that I’m not going _anywhere_. As long as he wants me here, I’m not leaving.”

“You can’t promise that,” Dean said, much to Cas’s surprise. “Sometimes people don’t get to choose when they leave. If he could, Big Dean would keep you in his head forever, coz’ at least then he can protect you better.”

“I thought I was the one that was supposed to be protecting you?”

“You do. But Big Dean wants to protect everyone.”

Castiel sighed, looking up to the surroundings beyond the remains of the house. The stars were disappearing from the sky, the black of night spilling out and claiming everything else. Soon, everything around them would be nothing but an endless blackness.

Dean was waking up.

“Yes, he does... even when doing so risks himself...” Castiel noted, preparing himself to be ripped from this dream and into Dean's groggy, wakening consciousness mind.

“You're different, though,” Little Dean added, his voice fading away with the rest of the dream. “And that's why bigger me is so scared. You're something different to him – and he's too scared to find out what that kind of different is.”


	7. Beach Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean blinked blankly at the back of Castiel’s trench coat, waiting for Cas to realize that what he had just said was not, in the slightest, a normal thing to drop on someone. “You… were a whale?”
> 
> “I’ve observed over the Earth in many forms. Though, I have to say, this vessel has probably been my favorite,” Castiel peeled the right side of his trench coat to the side, gazing down at it with a fond smile. “You really were Chuck’s greatest creation, you know.”
> 
> “You talking about me specifically, or humanity in general?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: 'Imagination' by Shawn Mendes

We walk, we laugh, we spend our time walking by the ocean side,  
Our hands are gently intertwined,  
A feeling I just can't describe,  
All this time we spent alone, thinking we could not belong to something so damn beautiful,  
So damn beautiful,

In my dreams, you're with me,  
We'll be everything I want us to be,  
And from there, who knows?

_**-'Imagination' by Shawn Mendes** _

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

The next day found Dean in… almost the exact same situation as the day before.

He had been woken up – not by his alarm – but by his brother once more. Though, this time, in the form of an annoying string of text messages. Because apparently, Sam can’t type all he needs to in one long message, instead preferring to break it all up into multiple one sentence long text messages that had his phone vibrating so much that it nearly buzzed right off his bedside table.

That’s not to say that Dean isn’t grateful for his brother’s update. Truth be told, he had been expecting his little brother to be so wrapped up in the case – especially with Eileen as his hunting partner – that it would have slipped his mind to keep Dean in the loop. Y’know, the usual “Hey, just passing on the message to let you know I wasn’t violently torn apart by an angry spirit.”

As it turns out, the “one day job” is looking more like a “two-day” job. Dean’s half certain that Sam chose to text him this instead of calling him, because he knows _full well_ that Dean would have a few choice words for him over the phone. Texting those words just doesn’t have the same seething tone his voice can convey, so he instead decided to respond with ‘Cool, here if you need help. Let me know when you two are headed home,” and that was that.

Now, Dean was in his… sixth? Yep, _sixth_ hour of non-stop research, and he was about two more pages away from taking these books to the shooting range and using them as targets. Even poor Miracle was giving him a wide berth, having tried her best to cheer up her stressed looking owner by regularly bringing him some of her favorite cuddly toys and placing them on his lap. She had retreated to her bed with a huff after the fourth squeaky toy failed to bring out a smile from him, keeping a watchful eye over him ever since.

Dean groaned as his vision began to swim, eyes too strained from non-stop reading of text that was _way_ too tiny. His face scrunched up in discomfort, pinching at the bridge of his nose in the hopes that it may alleviate the headache he could feel settling in right at the front of his brain. Usually, he would at the very least of popped open the lid to a cold beer and have that resting on the table to help dull some of the boredom and pain research tended to bring.

As tempting as that beer sounded… he couldn’t. Well, he _could,_ but… Cas has asked him not to. And when Cas was fretting over his health like that… It was downright impossible to go against the guy. On top of that, he had quite literally escaped death by a whisker _because_ of Cas, so… the least he can do is listen to the guy and look after his health a little bit more.

But _damn_ , did he want that drink…

_‘You need to take a break.’_

**‘Huh?’**

_‘You’ve been in the library researching since you woke up. You didn’t even bother to make yourself breakfast. Both your mind and your body need a break.’_

**‘Aw, you worrying over me, Cas? That’s sweet.’**

_‘I always worry about you. It’s the one consistent stress in my life. This isn’t something new.’_

**‘Whoa – looks like _I’m_ not the only one getting cranky about all this research.’**

_‘I have been… holding my tongue this past hour, yes. However, I could feel the beginning of a migraine settling in, and I would really rather not share that sensation with you.’_

**‘ _Share that sensation_ with me? Cas, buddy, after twelve years slumming it down here with us, you should _really_ have learned how to talk like a normal freaking person.’**

_‘I can speak every language that has ever existed on Earth. You have to remember Dean that my native tongue is still Enochian. I am having to translate every thought I have into English for you, so excuse me if the way I speak doesn’t always conform to how you view ‘talking like a normal person’.”_

**‘Alright, alright, I get it – you’re vastly superior to me and I should stop pissing you off. Will it make you happy if I take a break?’**

_‘Yes. Besides, the more you overwork yourself, the less efficient you’ll be. Fatigue is a common factor in making mistakes, especially with missing what could potentially be important information.’_

**‘Cas, you don’t have to keep trying to convince me. I’ve already agreed.’**

_‘Oh. My apologies - I was expecting another argument.’_

**‘Sounds about right… but I think I’m too tired to deny a break right about now, Cas. And I think I have _just_ the idea of what we can do…’**

_‘…Should I be worried?’_

* * *

As it turns out, Dean’s idea of a break was… to go back to sleep.

Which wasn’t entirely a _bad_ thing. After all, Castiel never thought he’d see the day that Dean Winchester has a healthy sleep schedule. But he also never thought he’d see the day that Dean Winchester takes _naps_ , so… it was odd, to say the least.

Once again, Castiel found himself surrounded by heat the second he stepped into Dean’s slumbering mind. Though, this time, the heat was almost… pleasant. Perhaps a little bit stifling, though it wouldn’t take more than a thought to cool his body down whilst in Dean’s dream. The heat was a result of the dazzlingly bright sun beaming down overhead, a perfect circle of white sat upon the picture-perfect blue sky - not a cloud to be seen for miles.

It was… it was a beach?

Glancing down, Castiel saw his formerly scuff-free black shoes sinking into the beach’s soft golden sand, so light he could almost mistake it for white. He leans down, burrowing his hand into the warm sand and letting the minuscule grains slip between his fingers. The sand was… almost _too_ soft. Not irritating and course like sand _typically_ was, but instead so cushioned that it would likely feel like walking upon a cloud – if he were to remove his shoes, that was.

The beach itself was surrounded by a forest of green; various tropical trees and vegetation waving in the gentle cooling breeze that blew by, keeping the worst of the climate’s heat at bay. The waters themselves were the very definition of ‘crystal-clear’, that beautiful shade of turquoise waters that became see-through once you stepped into the shallow waters, able to observe the vibrant colors of the coral and sea life on display.

These were all views that would elicit a smile from any person. But it wasn’t until Castiel laid eyes on Dean Winchester lounging on a bright orange hammock tied between two trees by the edge of the forest that Castiel found his lips beginning to curl up.

“Railay Beach, Thailand,” Castiel noted the location Dean had dropped them in, wading through the sinking sand over to Dean. “Beautiful spot.”

“Whaddya think, huh?” Dean asked once he had reached his side, tipping up his tinted sunglasses to reveal twinkling green eyes that matched his shit-eating grin. “I’m starting to get the hang of this whole ‘lucid dreaming’ thing.”

Castiel forced down another smile as he took in the sight of Dean dressed in what could only be described as the ‘tropical vacation stereotype’: faded red Hawaiian shirt adorned with cartoon pineapples, a pair of emerald green swimming trunks that, strangely enough, matched the color of his eyes and – to top it all off – in his hands was a half-coconut cup that more than likely contained some type of fruity alcoholic beverage (with a little pink umbrella and straw poking out the top, of course).

“Weren’t you teasing Crowley about the cocktails?” Castiel asked, barely containing his laughter.

“Hey, I’m on vacation!” Dean defended himself, cradling the drink protectively to his chest. “I wanted something different than beer or whisky – sue me.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re… exploring your options,” Castiel said, looking out to the calm and still waters, the small waves gently lapping at the shore. “What made you choose this place? You’ve never been outside of America, have you?”

“Other than our little trip to the Dino-World? Nope.” Dean pulled himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the hammock and pushing his sunglasses up atop his head. “I saw this place on the cover of some travel magazine when I was looking for the next edition of Busty Asian Beauties,” Dean grinned around his straw when he saw the annoyed frown on Cas’s face in response to his reading material of choice.

“Again, at least you’re exploring your options,” Castiel replied, unable to fight away the narrow-eyed glare his body wanted to direct at Dean. “Still, it’s impressive you managed to conjure all of this based on only one small memory of a magazine cover. The attention to detail is remarkable…”

“You’ve been here before?” Dean asked, brows shooting up in surprise.

“Once. Though it was a _long_ time ago.”

“How long is long?”

“I believe before the continents existed,” Castiel answered, taking a few steps forward towards the alluring ocean. “There have been some changes in that time of course, but… it’s still as beautiful as I remember. Though, I _was_ viewing it from the surface of the ocean.”

“Um… what, were you going for a swim or something?”

“I was possessing a Bryde whale at the time. I was sent to check on the progression of the lands. You, as in the Homo-Sapiens, had yet to begin the major branch of your evolution path, you see. We were occasionally sent to make sure the environmental conditions were ideal for the process to begin.”

Dean blinked blankly at the back of Castiel’s trench coat, waiting for Cas to realize that what he had just said was not, in the slightest, a normal thing to drop on someone. “You… were a whale?”

“I’ve observed over the Earth in many forms. Though, I have to say, this vessel has probably been my favorite,” Castiel peeled the right side of his trench coat to the side, gazing down at it with a fond smile. “You really were Chuck’s greatest creation, you know.”

“You talking about me specifically, or humanity in general?”

That was one way to ruin the mood. Why… why did he say that? He could blame it on the alcohol again, right? Yeah, that was the best way out of this. It was the _only_ explanation he could give. The words had just… slipped right out of his mouth. It was barely even a thought in his mind before he had said it. And oh boy, he had said it. It was there, hanging between them, and Cas was still turned away from him, still staring down at the interior of his trench coat he held in his hands, not _doing anything_.

“You are the righteous man,” Castiel finally broke the silence, still with his back to Dean, facing the open ocean. “You were the man destined to be Michael’s sword. The man destined to bring the end to Lucifer. Instead, you became the man who defied all of God’s rules. The man who fought for this world, for _every_ world, even when God no longer cared for it.”

Then, Castiel decided to turn. Barely stepping to the side to glance at Dean over his shoulder, eyes landing on Dean before delivering his final verdict. “To Chuck, you are likely his greatest failure. That in itself, along with an exhausting list of reasons that would take up your entire dream to lay out in front of you, is the reason I consider you to be God’s greatest creation.”

Scratch ruining the mood. Cas just took that to another _level._ It wasn’t often that someone said something that left him completely and utterly speechless - but this? This was one of those times. And of _course_ it would be Cas to do it.

He had done it before, after all…

Now, the question was: how does he respond to that? How do you reply to your best friend telling you that, in their eyes, they believe you to be the best thing that _God_ himself has ever created? Oh, and your best friend just so happens to be an _angel of the Lord_ who has existed long enough to have witnessed a _lot_ of incredible creations being made over the years, and _still_ believes that there’s nothing better than you?

“You hot?”

Once more, the words slip out. And, judging by the absolutely bewildered and somewhat flustered look that crosses Cas’s face, that sounded about as bad as it sounded to him, too.

“Am I… hot?”

“In the trench-coat!” Dean blurts out rapidly, the words nearly incomprehensible in his haste to clarify what he meant. “Aren’t you sweating in that get-up? It’s gotta be at least ninety degrees-,”

“Eighty-seven-point-eight degrees Fahrenheit, to be exact,” Castiel answered, schooling his expression back to his usual stone-faced neutral look. “And yes, I suppose it’s rather warm. Though, seeing as I am still an angel, I do not sweat.”

“Show off…” Dean muttered, swinging his legs back onto the hammock and stretching out before relaxing back into the soft material. “Wait – do you seriously never sweat?”

“Never.”

“ _Never?”_

“Never.” Castiel clarified firmly, a little confused as to why this was something Dean was so caught up on.

“Huh… you sure about that?” Dean challenged him slyly, taking another refreshing sip of his Piña Colada and smacking his lips at the fruity burst of pineapple across his taste buds. “You’ve only had sex when you were human, right? How do you know you don’t sweat as an angel, too?”

Castiel scoffed, _physically_ turning his back on the conversation by turning his back on Dean. “What is it with you and your obsession with sexual intercourse…”

“Says the guy who’s only managed to get one girl into bed!” Dean teased, not picking up on the way Castiel’s muscles coiled up tight, taking the words to heart. “ _And_ she was a reaper! She only slept with you to get you to trust her, right?”

“Dean-,” Castiel tried to stop Dean, to no avail.

“Guess you’ll never find out the truth…” Dean shrugged his shoulders, eyeing the depleting remains of his coconut cocktail. “Since you’re so dead set on the ‘no sleeping with strangers’ thing…”

“If you’re so insistent on finding out whether I sweat under such particular _circumstances-,”_ Cas stressed the last word, whirling around and looking Dean _dead_ in the eyes as an unexpected surge of courage flows through him. “-Then I think we both know a way we can perform this experiment.”

Dean was, rather unfortunately, midway through a big sip of his drink when Cas decided to say this. Castiel didn’t even look the slightest bit guilty – or even worried, for that matter – as Dean struggled to cough up the creamy cocktail that had decided to settle in his lungs. He punched a fist into his chest as he sat back up, swinging around and hacking up his lungs as leaned over the edge of the hammock, tears collecting in his eyes at the burning in his lungs.

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, voice rough and grated once he had gotten over his coughing fit (and cleared the bit of liquid that had shot up to his nose…) “You trying to kill me?”

“I’m stuck between a constant cycle of wanting to kill you, and doing everything in my power to keep you alive,” Castiel delivered his line completely dead-pan. “It’s a rather exhausting existence.”

The neutral expression Castiel was trying to stick to cracked, the smallest beginnings of a smirk creeping onto his face at the flabbergasted look Dean was sending up at him, still hunched over on the hammock. Dean quickly grabbed hold of himself, never one to let someone get the upper hand on him when it came to mercilessly teasing someone. He whipped the sunglasses off his face, looking Castiel up and down with a narrow-eyed glare that made Cas feel just a tiny bit nervous.

“I think it’s about time for a wardrobe change, don’t you?” Dean asked, feeling way too warm just by _looking_ at the bulky trench-coat draped over Castiel’s body.

“Dean…” Castiel said his name in a warning tone, taking a cautious step back away from Dean (as if that was going to help…) “Dean, what are you planning to-,”

With the click of his fingers and a grin on his face like he was the cat that got the cream, Castiel was stripped of his usual wardrobe. His trench coat, suit, and formal black shoes were long gone; replaced by an obnoxiously hot-pink Hawaiian shirt in the same style of Dean’s, along with a similar style of swimming trunks- although his pair were colored a deep and familiar blue which matched the steely eyes that were sending daggers Dean’s way.

“Success!” Dean shouted in delight, raising both his arms in the air in victory. “Guess that confirms I can change stuff in my dreams now. Gotta admit, I was kinda worried about messing it up and leaving you naked or something.”

“Wouldn’t that be a travesty,” Castiel said dryly, glancing down at his new attire, clearly unimpressed.

“What?” Dean asked as he caught sight of Castiel’s disappointment in his choice of wardrobe. “Don’t give me that look. You should be glad I didn’t give in to my temptations to put you in a banana hammock.”

“A _what?”_

Dean sighed, standing up from the hammock (by which he means making an absolute fool of himself as he struggles to pull himself out of that cottony blackhole). “It’s another name for a speedo, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes followed Dean as he took the few staggered steps through the sand to reach his side, turning to face the ocean alongside Dean. “Oh, I see… but why is it called a banana hammock? It doesn’t seem like there would be enough space in such a confined piece of clothing for – _oh…”_

Dean snorted at the high-pitched tone of realization in Cas’s voice, looking away from the calm sea to Cas with an entertained grin. “Yeah, they’re not referring to the actual fruit.”

“I figured that out, thank you,” Castiel replied, catching Dean’s cheerful smile out of the corner of his eye. “Which raises the question: why were you tempted to put me into a ‘banana hammock’ in the first place?”

“Uh…” Yep, good answer, Dean. You definitely aren’t letting Cas be on top here or anything like that. “…Coz it’d be hilarious?”

Castiel’s dignified that answer with a low hum in the back of his throat, looking down to his toes as they wiggled in the soft sand (turns out it _did_ feel like walking on top of a cloud). “Well Dean, you’ve finally got your beach vacation.”

“Can’t quite believe it myself. Only took forty-two years for me to get here. It’s all in my head of course, but whatever.”

“So… what do you want to do?”

“Well, I dunno about you, but _I’m_ sizzling hot,” Dean told Cas with a wink and a dazzling smile that Castiel knows had gotten quite a few girls to melt upon seeing. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this…”

“Do what-?”

Castiel couldn’t even finish his sentence, seeing as Dean had quite suddenly ripped his Hawaiian shirt over his head, overwhelmed by the expanse of skin he doesn’t usually get to see. Castiel was only partly pulled out of his stupor when Dean chucked said shirt into his face, pulling it off his head to see Dean racing towards the cooling waters ahead with as much grace as his bowed legs would allow him.

It seemed that what Dean had been _planning_ to do was to expertly dart through the shallow waters, reach a spot where the sandy seabed began to slant and the waters above began to deepen, then smoothly dive into the next incoming wave; like he saw people do in those vacation commercials which popped up on his laptop that _definitely_ didn’t make him feel super jealous.

Again, that was what Dean _planned_ to do. Instead, the sudden transition from the uneven sand to the unexpected resistance of the ocean sent Dean into a somewhat stumbling, drunken looking stagger thorough the shallow waters before he lost his footing completely, falling face-first into the water with a painful sounding belly-splash that threw up a mini-explosion of water.

When Dean gathered himself enough to get over his initial embarrassment at his spectacular failure and resurface, he was met with a rare sound that never failed to pull a smile out of him. Cas was laughing. _Hard._ In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s _never_ heard Cas laugh quite this hard before, which must mean his fall _looked_ as funny as he imagined it must have been. He should probably feel offended that Cas is laughing at his expense (and hadn’t even checked to see if Dean was alright, the asshole), but the sight of Castiel folded over himself as barks of deep, rumbling laughter echo around the bay is enough for Dean to collapse into a fit of totally manly giggles himself.

“That was a perfect ten, right?” Dean called out to Cas over the crashing waves and the last of Castiel’s snorts. “I doubt you’ve ever seen such a magnificent dive in your _life._ ”

“It was certainly something to behold,” Castiel called back to him. “How much water did you inhale upon impact?”

“Not as much as the Piña Colada – which is _much_ more pleasant to have up your nose,” Dean kicked out his legs, pushing himself back a little bit deeper out to sea and away from shore. “You just gonna stand there and take in the view, or you gonna get out here and join me?”

Castiel rolled his eyes – even though there was no way Dean could pick that up from this distance – but began stepping closer to the ocean none the less. It was once Castiel reached behind him, grabbing at the back of his shirt and casually yanking it up and over his head… that was when Dean realized just how much he was staring. He couldn’t take his eyes off Cas, and he wasn’t too sure why. Perhaps because… it was so _jarring_ to see Cas without a shirt. He’s fairly sure the last time he had seen Cas shirtless was right after that Reaper had… yeah, nope – not gonna think about that memory. Now though, taking in the sight of Castiel’s surprisingly lean and toned form and naturally tanned skin whilst he waded through the water towards him…

He probably shouldn’t be staring at his best friend like this, right?

Dean shook himself out of his trance, focusing on treading the water as Castiel smoothly pushed through the water towards him. Dean had partly been expecting (hoping, if he’s being honest with himself) that Cas would be a flailing kind of swimmer, but of course Cas took to swimming as naturally as a duck took to water. Makes sense he supposed, as Cas had _literally been a goddamn whale_ at some point.

Castiel reached his side, easily coming to a stop a few yards away from Dean, pushing his arms out in a circular motion as he treads the water alongside Dean. “Are you planning on swimming around the entire shore?”

“God no,” Dean answered, shooting Cas an incredulous look. “People don’t go on vacation to _exercise_ , Cas.”

“Then… what are we doing out here?” Castiel asked, cocking his head to the side.

“We’re here to-,” Dean sacrificed one of his hands that was treading water to snap his fingers together. To his delight, one of those inflatable pool floats with a backrest appeared beneath him, leaning back against the already warming plastic with a satisfied grin. “-relax.”

With another click of his fingers, Dean summoned another pool inflatable for Cas to relax on. He was quite pleased with his inflatable of choice – a bright white float in the shape of a unicorn with a colorful rainbow mane and tail. Cas flailed somewhat at the sudden object that appeared below him, grabbing hold of the neck of the unicorn inflatable to steady himself.

“I’m not sure how much I’m going to be able to ‘relax’ if you keep making things appear out of thin air,” Castiel said, trying to get as comfortable as he possibly could, having to straddle the much too wide unicorn inflatable.

“Sorry, sorry – I’m having a little bit too much fun,” Dean knocked his sunglasses back over his eyes, resting his head back against the headrest. “But, uh… you’re okay being here, right? As in-,”

“I’m here of my own accord, Dean.” Castiel unpeeled his skin from the plastic of the inflatable, shifting himself around to lean back against the neck of the unicorn. “These dreams, they… they’ve probably made me feel the most content I’ve felt in… well, in _some_ time.”

“Good. That’s, uh… you know… I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner or something up here with me.”

“Far from it,” Castiel answered, wondering if Dean was looking at him behind the darkness of his shades. “Not many prisoners get to go on a beach vacation.”

“Good point,” Dean conceded, resting his hands behind his head. “Hey, do you _really_ know every language?”

“Considering most of my time was spent watching over humans, is it really that shocking to believe that I took those thousands upon thousands of years to learn the languages you created?”

“Guess not. I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever heard you speak a little bit of Enochian and Latin, so I didn’t really think about what other languages you might know,” Dean summoned yet another cocktail into his hands, this time electing for a ‘Sex On The Beach’ (he’s on vacation, leave him alone).

For the next five minutes or so the two lazily floated about the still waters, soaking in the rays of sunshine that beamed down upon them. Dean was already nearing the end of his drink, popping the cherry that had been impaled by the umbrella into his mouth and humming in satisfaction as the sweet and tart flavor burst across his tongue.

“I still don’t believe you can speak _every_ language,” Dean declared out of nowhere, swirling about the last remains of his cocktail with his crazy straw. C’mon, prove it to me – speak a little French.”

“Je ne sais pas trop pourquoi je cède si facilement à vos demandes,” (I'm not too sure why I give in to your demands so easily) Castiel drawled out in a perfect French accent, leisurely dipping his hand back and forth in the cool turquoise waters.

“I heard ‘demands’ in there!” Dean pointed out. “No idea what the rest of what you said meant, but I heard demands!”

“A quoi ça sert, vu que vous ne parlez aucune de ces langues? Je pourrais dire des bêtises pour tout ce que vous savez,” (What's the point of all this, seeing as you don't speak any of these languages? I could be speaking nonsense for all you know.) Castiel replied, turning his head to find Dean had once again raised his sunglasses off his eyes and onto the top of his head.

“I’ve got nothing,” Dean answered as Castiel expected him too, though with a light smile on his face that seemed to hint he was, strangely enough, enjoying having no idea what Cas was saying to him. “How about some Spanish? I know a little bit – maybe I’ll pick something up.”

“¿Significa eso que tengo que tener cuidado con lo que digo ahora?” (Does that mean I have to be careful with what I say now?) Something about the Spanish accent appealed to a part of Dean that had a soft spot for the Casa Erotica series – and probably shouldn’t be relating to his best friend that was currently staring into his eyes as spoke in such a low, sultry tone. “Porque hay algunas cosas que quería decirte sin que te dieras cuenta.” (Because there are some things I wanted to tell you, without you even noticing.)

“Alright, two for two. Not bad. Now, how about… some Russian?”

“Часть меня сожалеет, что ты не посадил меня в банановый гамак. Учитывая ваш особый фетиш в трусиках ... ваша реакция, безусловно, была бы интересной,” (Part of me regrets that you didn't put me in that banana hammock. Given your particular panty fetish ... your reaction would certainly be interesting.) Castiel’s rumbling gravelly voice oddly matched the Russian syllables that spilled from his mouth. “И я примерно на девяносто процентов уверен, что такие вещи на этой родине языков будут наказаны. Жаль, что большая часть мира еще не стала более терпимой.” (And I'm about ninety percent sure that speaking such things in this languages homeland would result in quite the punishment. It's a shame a majority of the world has yet to become more accepting.)

“No idea what you’re telling me, but it sounds cool as hell,” Dean gushed, pushing himself up into more of a seated position on the float. “Uh… Oh! Can you do some Japanese?”

“このリクエストがあなたのアジアンフェティッシュのせいではないことを願っています...” (I hope this request isn’t because of your Asian fetish…)Dean was hanging on to Cas’s every word, even though every single one of those words was going right over his head. “私が人間になったときの私の最初の夢についてあなたに話したことがありますか？(Did I ever tell you about my first dreams when I became human?)

“Wait, wait – now do Vietnamese. Fits our location, after all.”

“Tất nhiên, chúng hầu hết là những cơn ác mộng. Tôi vẫn chưa quen với khái niệm mơ. Tôi mất một thời gian dài sau khi tỉnh dậy để nhận ra rằng không có cái nào là thật,” (Of course, they were mostly nightmares. I still wasn’t familiar with idea of dreaming. It took me quite some time after waking up to realize that they weren’t real) Castiel continued his previous story – without Dean even knowing it was a continuation. “Nhưng đôi khi, tôi sẽ mơ. Là một con người mới, tôi ... bắt đầu trải nghiệm những điều tôi chưa từng có trước đây. Cảm xúc dâng trào, ham muốn hiển hiện trong giấc mơ của tôi. Anh có muốn biết những mong muốn đó là gì không, Dean? Những điều tôi mơ ước?” (But sometimes, I would dream. As a new, fresh human, I was... beginning to experience things I never had before. Feelings that were heightened, desires that manifested in my dreams. Would you like to know what those desires were, Dean? The things I dreamt of?)

Dean peered at Castiel with an unsure smile, a mix of suspicion and intrigue flowing through him at the single word he picked out. “I heard my name in there, Cas… You talking ‘bout me?”

“Tôi đã mơ về cảm giác của những ngón tay của bạn giữa những ngón tay của tôi,” Castiel began softly, brave enough to keep his gaze locked directly with Dean’s, safe in the knowledge that Dean was clueless to his words. “Anh đã mơ thấy sẽ như thế nào khi được ôm em vào lòng khi chúng ta ngủ. Nó sẽ được đánh thức bên cạnh bạn. Để biết cảm giác của môi bạn trên môi tôi, để nếm vị muối của làn da bạn dưới lưỡi tôi ...” (I dreamt of what it would be like to hold you in my arms as we slept. The privilege it would be to wake up by your side. To know the feel of your lips on mine, to taste the salt of your skin under my tongue...)

“G ol page, ol as dluga a el qaa ol knew ol trian ge blans; ol blans Dean Winchester’s boaluahe,”(In my dreams, I was given the one thing I knew I couldn't have; I had Dean Winchester’s love) Castiel spoke his native tongue in a whisper, something about the words being spoken in the language he knows best making him feel vulnerable under Dean’s scrutinizing gaze.

“De scatebrisque eorum somnia, solum quod eius meminisse potui, quod non habent genus peius est ... ut esset in tormentis et malorum esse unquam posse,” (Waking from those dreams, only to remember that was something I could never have... that was a worse type of torture than the nightmares ever could be.) Castiel slipped into Latin to finish the last of his declaration. Even though Dean couldn’t understand the words Castiel was speaking, the tortured look he saw in Cas’s eyes spoke more than his words ever could.

“I’m not sure if I _want_ to know what you’re saying about me…” Dean couldn’t take the pain in Cas’s expression anymore, glancing down to see his own reflection looking back at him in the blue water. “Especially if _I’m_ the one that’s making you feel like crap…”

“You’re not,” Castiel assured him with barely a hint of a comforting smile. “I’m… torturing myself, mostly. Holding onto a hope that was never there.”

“Hope’s good. Sometimes it’s all we’ve got, and it’s gotten us through some pretty shitty situations before.”

“This one’s a bit different…” Castiel leaned back down atop the unicorn float, resting his head against the cushioned neck of the mystical creature and letting his eyes slide closed. “And yet… I think I’ll always hold onto it.”

Dean kept his head turned towards Castiel, feeling a strange pang in his chest that he was all too familiar with. He was feeling guilty… and he didn’t know _why._ It didn’t matter what Cas said – he _knew_ it was something _he_ had done to get Cas so upset. Or… or was it something he said? Whatever it was, this was all a direct result of one of _his_ fuck-ups, and it’s eating him alive that he doesn’t know how to fix this. He wants to see Cas smiling and laughing again, without a care in the world.

That’s when he gets an idea.

As quietly as he can, Dean stealthily slips into the water. He barely makes a splash as he disappears under the surface of the water, though the sound was _just_ audible enough for Cas to pick up on; what with his angel hearing powers and all. Castiel’s eyes flutter back open, blearily looking over to where Dean’s inflatable was bobbing up and down next to him.

“Dean?” Castiel calls out his name at the sight of the empty inflatable. He pushes himself up from his own inflatable as his eyes furiously scan across the surface of the water, feeling the panic begin to swirl in his stomach when he doesn’t see a sign of Dean anywhere. His vibrantly colored swimming trunks should make him easy to pick out within the gentle waves, but all Castiel could see was the endless blue of the ocean that surrounded him.

“Dean!?” Castiel quickly pushes himself to his knees on the inflatable, grasping at the edges tightly as he peers over into the water below, the horrifying thought of seeing Dean’s drowned body sunk to the bottom of the seabed passing through his mind. “Dean! Where-,”

Castiel is thrown face-first into the ocean below, his inflatable unceremoniously tipped from the other side by a much too satisfied Dean Winchester with a rather evil grin etched across his face. Being mid-sentence meant, regrettably, that Castiel’s mouth was wide open, getting a mouthful of salty water on top of what felt like gallons of the ocean shooting up his nose as he hit the surface of the water.

Castiel breached the surface of the ocean in a fit of spluttering coughs, feverishly wiping the water out from his stinging eyes. He looked to Dean in absolute bewilderment once his vision was better than the blurry mess it was before, unsure whether to be infuriated beyond belief or genuinely amused by the way Dean was laughing so hard that he could barely keep himself afloat.

“What were you trying to do, _drown me_?” Castiel asked, barely resisting the urge to shove Dean’s snickering head under the water for a taste of his own medicine.

“Nah, just thought it was time for some fun!”

“And fun is… doing incredibly stupid and dangerous activities in an environment the human body was not deigned for?”

“Exactly! Now you’re getting it!” Dean proclaimed. “Come on, I promise it’ll be fun.”

“… _What_ will be fun?”

“The splash war we’re about to have.”

“What’s a-,”

Castiel received _another_ mouthful of water as Dean swung his arm across the surface of the water, stirring up a wave that crashed into his face. He was only just about able to close his eyes in time to at least not have to deal with the sting of salt in his eyes _again._ He opened his eyes to see the challenging glint in Dean’s, spitting out the water in his mouth like he would spit out blood after a particularly brutal punch during battle. Dean’s confidence waivered as the look on Castiel’s face changed to one he rarely sees aimed at him; this was his _battle mode._ Dean had declared war, and Castiel wasn’t taking it lightly.

Dean laughed somewhat nervously, unconsciously swimming back away from Cas who stared him down unequivocally. “Okay, maybe that was mean of me using “show don’t tell,” but in my defence-,”

Dean stopped talking the second Castiel’s eyes began to glow that bright white, raising his hand into the air next to his head and clenching it into a fist. Dean could only stare wide-eyed, his eyes practically about to bulge out of his head as the ocean began to stir, whirling around and forming a _giant_ wave that darted towards him like a goddamn heat seeking missile.

“Holy fu-,” Dean didn’t even bother to finish his sentence, turning tail and swimming back towards the shore as fast as his arms and legs could propel him. His heart thudded furiously in his chest with the thrill, laughing uncontrollably as he swam – something about the way that Cas had taken this splash war just a _little bit_ too seriously tickling the childish side of him. It didn’t escape his notice that the wave was clearly shrinking in size the closer it got to Dean whenever he glanced back at it over his shoulder – _obviously_ Cas wasn’t actually going to slam a tsunami sized wave into him… Obviously…

The shore was in sight, the water under his feet steadily turning to sand as the seabed came up to meet him. Dean pushed himself through the water, struggling through the waist high water as the wave got closer and closer… It was just as his feet met the dry sand of the beach that was out of the ocean’s reach that the wave crashed around him, able to jump just out of it’s area of impact to avoid being completely wiped out by the wave of vengeance.

“Ah-ha!” Dean yelled in his triumph, chest heaving with the effort of rushing to shore. He spun around on the spot, both fists raised in the air above his head, expecting to see Cas’s pouting figure still floating out in the ocean. “How’d you miss me with an entire damn wa-,”

Castiel was _not_ still in the ocean. He was, in fact, right on Dean’s heels alongside the wave he had sent his way. Dean only had around five seconds to absorb this fact before Castiel was wrapping him up in a tackle impressive enough to be signed by an NFL team, sending the two of them careening into the sand. Dean grunted roughly upon impact, the air crushed out of him as a result of the five feet, nine inches tall _angel_ that landed on his ribs.

“Ow…” Dean groaned out between fits of his own muffled laughter, able to feel Castiel’s rumbling laughter vibrating against his chest. Castiel pulled his arms out from where they were pinned under Dean’s back, using them to push himself up off of Dean.

“Caught you,” Castiel drawled, leaning over Dean with the most satisfied smile Dean think’s he’s ever seen on the angel’s face.

Dean couldn’t help but notice the way Castiel _looked_ like an actual, honest to God angel. The sun was perfectly situated behind him, a bright golden halo illuminating his beaming face. Droplets of water slipped down from his dark, soaking hair, dripping off the end of his nose and catching in the light stubble brushed across his face. Cas’s smile was _radiant -_ and knowing that he had been part of the reason it was there in the first place stirred up something in his chest that had been showing up a lot lately.

He wanted to kiss Cas.

That was what the feeling was. That insistent urge… It wasn’t like it was something he had never felt before. It had been there the many times he had managed to charm whichever eager bartender or willing patron, at whichever bar him and Sam had found themselves at after (and sometimes during) a particularly grueling hunt. He knew what the feeling was, and now here it was again as he looked up into his best friend’s warm eyes and tender smile. This in itself should be a terrifying enough notion. Except, it wasn’t _just_ the feeling itself that scared the ever-living crap out of him.

It was the question of whether he had felt that urge around Cas before.

And the answer he thinks he knows deep down.

“Dean?” The relaxed expression on Cas’s face was gone, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Your pulse has become erratic again. Is something the matter?”

A _lot_ was the matter right now, but it wasn’t like Dean could tell him that. Cas’s deep blue eyes seem to be digging into his own, as if he was trying to dig through Dean’s mind to find the answers. Dean found himself trapped in their endless gaze, only able to tear away from them for the few seconds his eyes flicked down to Cas’s chapped and sun-kissed lips, licking away the salt and sand that was littered across his own.

Dean could tell the moment Castiel picked up on the movement. He could feel Cas go taut above him, muscles tightening as he freezes up. Cas’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed nervously, mirroring Dean as his eyes switched between the forest trapped within Dean’s eyes and Dean’s parted, wetted lips.

“Dean?”

That wasn’t Cas’s voice this time. Even Cas startled above him, looking around and to the sky, the voice seeming to echo all around them.

“Dean? Dean!”

Blackness rapidly began to close in, the cool blue waters and matching sky disappearing into nothingness as Sam’s yells began to pull Dean out from his slumber. Dean got one last look of his perfect beach vacation, one last glance at Castiel’s face –flickering with what Dean knew full well to be disappointment- before Cas too was swallowed up by the sinking darkness.

It was as Dean pulled himself out from that comfortable nothingness of sleep that he wondered whether the feeling brewing inside him upon awakening from his dream was one of relief, or of the same disappointment he saw from Cas...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am a dumbass who does not have the intelligence to learn a new language, I'm afraid all of the translations in this chapter was done through Google Translate (and 'A Passable Enochian Translator' by LingoJam), so my sincerest apologies if I've absolutely butchered those translations!


	8. Wish Upon A Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello, Dean.”
> 
> “Don’t you dare,” Dean bites out. He was still refusing to look at Cas right now. Mostly because there’s a good chance he’d punch him if he did. “You don’t get to do that like we’re all buddy-buddy right now. Not when you’ve got some explaining to do.”
> 
> Castiel stayed silent next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently rather ill, yet somehow I have done more writing than usual. Maybe because this is the chapter I've been waiting to write for so long. Either way, I hope it isn't an absolute mess reading back when my head no longer feels like it's about to explode.
> 
> Chapter Song: 'Saturn' by Sleeping At Last

You taught me the courage of stars before you left,

How light carries on endlessly, even after death,  
With shortness of breath,  
You explained the infinite,  
And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist,

I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again,  
I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen,  
I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time,  
That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes

_**-'Saturn' by Sleeping At Last**_

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

“Dean!”

Dean’s eye’s snapped open, a frantic and uncontrollable response to the sound of his brother yelling his name, expecting for there to be trouble. His body jerks up – or at least tries to – nothing more than a flailing of his arms and a jerk of his shoulders.

“Son of a-,” Dean grunts, using his arms to push himself back up against the headboard. His head snaps towards his brother’s yells, coming eye to eye with a particularly worried-looking Sam at his bedside, and an equally concerned looking Eileen next to him.

“What?” Dean snaps, not appreciating the rude awakening.

“ _What?_ What do you mean ‘what?’ Dean, it’s-,” Sam roughly shoves his sleeve up, double-checking the time on his watch. “- _Four ‘o clock in the afternoon,_ and you’re, what, taking a nap?! We were texting and calling you on the way home and you didn’t pick up! We get back and find books thrown all over the table with you nowhere in sight, not replying to us when we’re yelling for you! Jesus Dean, I thought something had happened.”

“I’m fine,” Dean brushed his brother’s overprotective worry off, running a hand down his groggy face. “Research was kicking my ass is all. Needed some extra sleep.”

“So much so that you sleep through all my calls and texts, and then takes us yelling your name around ten times for you to wake up?” Sam asks, still with that hint of worry in his eyes.

“Dean… is there something you’re not telling us?” Eileen probes, leaning past Sam to look to Dean.

“What’dya mean? It’s not like I could have snuck out and done something. Not without falling down the stairs a million times and having to roll around in this damn thing everywhere around town.”

“No, I meant more…” Eileen trailed off, looking back to the Sam next to her, thinking over her words. “Are you in pain?”

Sam and Eileen seemed to have expected the confused look he gave in return, looking back to one another in that ‘we’re somehow reading each other’s minds’ look that’s _really_ starting to get on Dean’s nerves.

“We just… We noticed you’ve been sleeping more than usual,” Sam began timidly, knowing this is going to be a touchy subject with Dean. “It’s, well… it’s not like you. And I usually wouldn’t say anything about it, but… what with your injury and all…”

“Sammy, I’m _fine,”_ Dean insisted. The fact that he couldn’t just _walk away_ from this conversation was a real pain in the ass.

Sam didn’t look like he believed him. “It’s just that… some of the pamphlets the doctor gave me mentioned about how excessive fatigue can be a sign of deterioration of health-,”

“Sam, are you forgetting that there’s an _angel_ residing in my body right now?” Dean interrupted Sam. “Do you really think Cas would just leave me to die?”

“Of course I don’t,” Sam almost looked offended that Dean could ever think such a thing. “But I wasn’t just talking about physical health, you know.”

“Sam…”

“Look Dean, I know you don’t like talking about this kind of stuff, but with the way things are now… You can’t expect me not to get worried.” Sam said.

“You’ve had to go through something awful, Dean,” Eileen piped up. “And this isn’t us saying you’re not strong enough to handle it, okay? It’s not. But things like this can take a toll on your mental health, even when you don’t realize it.”

“Not to mention there’s going to be a strain on your mind with Cas possessing you,” Sam added. “We don’t know what the long-term effects are going to be – given the fact that it’s not your typical angel possession.”

Dean frowned up at his little brother. “How is it not?”

“Well… usually, angels and their vessels don’t… switch possession as much as you guys do. And…And…”

“And _what_?”

“We’re just worried, is all,” Eileen said gently, placing what Dean is sure would be a comforting hand on his lower leg – if he could feel it, that is. “And we know we’re being over-bearing right now, and you want nothing more than for us to get lost-,”

“ _What? No!_ That’s not – I mean I appreciate you guys worrying over me, it’s just -,”

“If you say you’re fine? I believe you,” Sam told him. “I do, okay? But that’s not going to stop me from worrying over you.”

“I know, Sammy,” Dean said. He understood; he’d be doing the exact same thing if their roles were reversed. “But I’m not going to do something drastic, okay? That’s not… that’s not me anymore. It’s…”

Dean sighed, not knowing the right way to explain this to Sam. Or more, he knew _exactly_ the way to explain it, but… it was almost too personal to share.

**‘Cas? You got your ears on?’**

_‘Always, Dean.’_

**‘Okay, well, uh… Do you mind if I tell Sam about… about when you…’**

_‘…When I died?’_

**‘Yeah, that… I don’t really _want_ to talk about it, since… I don’t know, it felt like those words were for _me_ only, but… I think it’s the only thing that’ll get these two love birds off my ass for at least five seconds.’**

_‘Oh, um… are you going to talk about everything I said?’_

**‘Uh… no, just… the bit before… you know…’**

The bit before Cas said something he still can’t think about.

_‘Oh… okay, I… yes. It's fine.’_

It sure as hell didn’t sound “fine.” **‘You sure?’**

_‘I said it’s fine.’_

Whoa, okay… The sudden hostility from Cas nearly had Dean flinching. He could feel the way Cas’s mood had shifted, back to that electric buzz he had felt back in the hospital when he had pissed Cas off. Except, this time, it was… muted. Even though Cas was stuck in his head, he had found a way to hide himself somewhere so deep inside that Dean could barely feel his presence within him; quite literally storming off into another ‘room’.

And he had no idea what he’d done to warrant such a reaction.

Eileen’s whisper to Sam is what brought Dean back to the present. “Was that the end of the conversation, or…”

“It’s about the night Cas died.”

That got their attention. Their shared amused grins were immediately wiped off their face, focus now locked on Dean.

“Cas had gotten me into the dungeon, but Billie was on the other side of the door. I was so angry with myself because… I knew we were going to die. There was nowhere to go but out that door, and Billie was there waiting. And it was _my_ fault. Not only had I gotten myself killed, but Cas too. And that pissed me off more than anything. I couldn’t blame that bitch Reaper for this one, or Lucifer, or Jack, or whatever. This was all on me. And then… Cas told me about that damn deal. What he had done to save Jack.”

“Cas made a deal?” Sam asked, clearly shocked. “How did… Who did he even make the deal with?”

“The Empty,” Dean answered bitterly. “His life in exchange for Jack’s; to take Jack’s place in the Empty.’

“But… but Jack was in Heaven?” Sam said, perplexed.

“Empty didn’t agree with that. But it did agree to Cas’s deal, except… Empty didn’t take him then and there. Apparently… it would only take him when he let himself be happy.  
Cas said he had an idea, then he was telling me all about this deal and I had no idea why… but then, Cas, he…”

It was strange. Cas was _alive,_ here with him. Quite literally. And yet, thinking back to that day… it was still so raw, so fresh, and so unbelievably, agonizingly _painful_ to remember - let alone speak out loud.

“He said some stuff that made me realize that maybe… maybe I wasn’t the shitty person I always thought I was. That the way _he_ saw _me_ changed him. He cared… because of me. And I still didn’t believe it when he said it, until he died for me because…”

“Because?” Sam encouraged Dean gently.

“Because he loved me.”

There. He said it. Was it… was it the first time he had said it out loud? Hell, was it the first time he had thought about it, acknowledged it since that day? He could feel Cas stirring inside him, as taken aback at hearing Dean say it as Sam and Eileen looked to hear it.

“That’s when the Empty came,” Dean continued. His gaze had dropped down to his lap, unable to take Eileen and Sam’s stunned yet sympathetic looks. “Took Billie, then… it took Cas. And that was it.”

“Wow…” Sam breathed out the word in response. “He finally told you?”

Dean’s head snapped up at that, a deep frown etched into his face. “Wha – You knew?”

“We… had our suspicions,” Eileen answered.

“We, um… we kind of had a bet going, actually. Before… everything went wrong.” Sam said, already grimacing in preparation for Dean’s response.

“ _Excuse me?_ You had a _bet_? A bet for what?”

Sam and Eileen shared nervous looks.

“You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know,” Dean grumbled, reaching over to the left side of his bed for his wheelchair that sat nearby. “Point is Cas helped me to see there’s more to me than I thought; made me realize that I actually _wanted_ to keep living. I’m not gonna throw that all away now.”

“Well… that’s great!” Sam exclaimed, fighting back the urge to go around the bed and help Dean as he struggles into his wheelchair. “Just wanted to make sure you know we’re here if you’re ever feeling… Dean – what’s that?”

Dean froze, looking up to see Sam’s eyes fixated on his arm. “Huh?”

Sam stormed around to the other side of the bed where Dean was, coming to a stop in front of him and pulling the sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder. “Isn’t that…?”

Dean threw his brother's hand off his shoulder, pulling his sleeve even further up and twisting his arm as he lifts it. There, branded on the skin of his left shoulder… was Cas’s handprint. The _scar,_ the one he had found the day Castiel brought him out of Hell. The one they used to discover Castiel’s name. The one that had, slowly after time, faded away.

It was back. It was faint, not as raised and raw looking as it was the first time it had appeared on his skin, but it was there.

“What the…” Dean mutters, brushing a hand over the scar as if it would just wipe away.

The second his fingers brush against the pink scar, a sensation like electricity shoots around his body. It even startles Cas, who _gasps_ in his mind, the sensation yanking Cas from his hiding spot to the forefront of Dean’s mind.

**‘Cas? What in the hell is this?’**

‘ _I… I don’t understand. I remember… it was gone.’_

**‘Yeah. And now it’s back. You got any idea why?’**

_‘I… it… no, I don’t.’_

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s happening?” Eileen asked, eying the giant scar on Dean’s shoulder with a mix of intrigue and horror.

“Dean had that scar a _long_ time ago,” Sam answered, eyes flickering from the scar to Dean’s flabbergasted face. “When Cas pulled him out of Hell, he… kind of left a mark on Dean. It faded with time, but now…”

“It’s back? How is that even possible?”

“I have no idea…” Dean mumbled, coming back into the conversation. “And neither does Cas.”

“Right... so…” Sam punctuated with a sigh, gesturing to the open door of Dean’s bedroom. “Research?”

* * *

Miracle was more than happy to have the rest of her little family back together, periodically racing between their legs at the library table for some well-deserved pets (which, let’s be honest, was as great for them as it was for her).

“So, wait – you’re telling me that this guy was _helping_ the spirit to kill people?” Dean asked.

“It’s where we got thrown off. Bodies were showing up around the same time, but some of them seemed to have knife wounds – not your usual weapon of choice for a vengeful spirit. Turns out that the guy’s wife made a _lot_ of enemies. Enough to get a target painted on her back.” Sam answered.

“And then she decided to pick off her enemies even after death,” Eileen added. “Her husband was so desperate to help her pass on that he thought helping her finish her… _task_ … would do that.”

Dean whistled in astonishment. “Damn… that’s kind of sad, actually. What did you do about the guy?”

“Passed the evidence onto the local police,” Sam said. “They took him in; no idea what they’ll do with him.”

“So, what about you?” Eileen asked Dean, crossing her arms and leaning against them atop the table. “Get anywhere with the research?”

“Oh yeah-,” Dean answered sarcastically. “-It’s all taken care of. I was actually joking before; Cas isn’t in my head anymore. He’s back in his body, just chilling in the kitchen.”

Sam gave Dean’s leg a swift kick under the table, quickly paling when he remembered Dean wouldn’t be able to feel that anymore. He was, however, able to see the movement underneath him, looking down to his leg swinging from the impact, and then up to his brother's horrified face. “Dude…”

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, looking everywhere but at his older brother. “Let’s just… pretend that didn’t happen.”

“Not in your dreams, Sammy,” Dean answered with a grin before grabbing at the Men of Letter’s file he had left on the table. “And to answer your previous question seriously; This is the closest we came to finding _something_ angel related.”

Dean offered up the file to Eileen, who gladly took it from his hands. “Whoa, weird; this file is _really_ thick.”

Dean shrugged. “I think it’s just old paper. Plus, seems like this is one of those experiments by Sinclair that he didn’t really want the other Men of Letter’s interfering in. Wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to keep it as much as a secret as he could – hence the weird paper.”

“Wait – Sinclair?” Sam asked, looking up to Dean as Eileen passed him the file. “The collector?”

“That’s the one. And you’ll never guess who helped him with this little experiment…”

Sam scanned briefly over the document in his hands, feeling himself deflate as his eyes brushed over a familiar name. “Henry Winchester…”

“Winchester? Is he…?”

“Seems dear old Grandpa was involved in some seriously messed up stuff during his brief stint as a Man of Letters,” Dean said. “There’s some footage if you wanna see it, but… both me and Cas would _strongly_ advise you don’t.”

_‘I would much rather you burn the reel all together if I’m being honest.’_

“How bad is it?” Sam asks cautiously, wondering if he even wants to _read_ the file.

“They managed to snag an angel for themselves. You remember back when Gadreel had possessed you, and you were trying to extract his left-over grace?”

Sam shivered at the memory. “Yeah… I remember that damn needle…”

“Did the same thing,” Dean continued. “But they left some of the angel its grace. They thought that they could kill the angel, but leave the vessel alive that way – so long as they fuck up the vessel a ton so that the angel heals him, but burns itself out.”

“I’m guessing it didn’t work…” Eileen said.

Dean sighed. “Not in the slightest. They blew the poor guy up. Both were… gone. Just like that.”

Sam’s eyes dropped down to the paper in his hands, the weight of it suddenly feeling much heavier than before. “Did, uh… Did Cas see?”

“Course he did. He’s in my head,” Dean answered. “And before you ask, no; Cas didn’t know the guy personally. Or, uh – the _angel_ personally. Knew his name though: Atheed.”

Sam’s face twisted with a guilt that wasn’t even his to feel. “Was he a good angel, or…?”

_‘He was an obedient angel; he did what he’s told, as most do. You can deduct what you want from that.’_

“He was a guy doing his job who got caught by the wrong people. Bad or good… that was a messed-up thing to do to him.”

“Makes me wonder how much of that kind of _‘work’_ the Men of Letter did…” Eileen says softly, gently sliding the file out of Sam’s hands. “I suppose a lot of the knowledge we have today came from similarly cruel experiments… as sickening as that is to think of.”

“Yeah… and we’ve gotta siphon through _all_ of those files to find anything angel or vessel related,” Sam gestures behind him at the multiple cabinets lining the wall. “I’m not sure if I wanna find out how many more cruel experiments Grandpa had a part in…”

“That makes two of us…” Dean mumbled in agreement, fighting back a groan at the thought of even more countless hours of research.

“What about Cas?” Sam asks, leaning back against his chair. “Does he have any idea?”

**‘You hear that, Cas? You got anything?’**

_‘Well, I… No, no I haven’t.’_

Dean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at the hesitancy in Castiel’s voice echoing around his head, the shift in his expression garnering interest from both Sam and Eileen.

“What is it?” Sam asks. “Cas got something?”

“Dunno…” Dean said slowly. “Kind of sounds to me like _someone_ is hiding something.”

_‘I’m not hiding anything. An idea came to mind, but I believe it is a dead end. More than a dead-end in fact, I believe it is likely to get us either into a debt we cannot repay – or repaying causes us more trouble than it’s worth – or is just going to get us all killed.’_

**‘Come on Cas – we both know those kinds of ideas are the ones that usually work when it comes to our problems. Hop up in the driver’s seat and tell everyone.’**

Dean could hear Cas’s long-suffering sigh deep within his mind. None the less, he felt that uncomfortable squeeze of pressure as Cas pushed himself to the front, sliding away into his own mind as he passes over the controls.

Both Sam and Eileen straightened in their seats at the sight of Dean’s glowing blue eyes; something about angel possession always making them uncomfortable, even when they know the angel in question.

“I’m guessing you have an idea?” Sam asks once the sheen of grace slips away from Dean’s eyes. It was odd - how it was Dean’s eyes looking at him, but Sam could see nothing but Cas behind those eyes. The stare was completely and unequivocally _Cas._

 **“** I do, unfortunately,” Cas replies in a strained voice. “Do you remember Sergei?”

“Sergei?” Sam asks, face scrunched in thought before the memories flood back. “The Russian guy?”

“ _What?”_ Eileen splutters, already looking none too pleased with the idea. “You mean that guy who nearly got Sam _killed_ so he could bargain with us?”

**‘He did _what?’_**

“That’s the one,” Castiel replied dejectedly. “I don’t like the idea much either, but…”

“He did stop me from dying,” Sam offers awkwardly, able to feel the amped-up tension radiating from Eileen.

“Yeah – _after_ Cas threatened his niece!” Eileen argued.

**‘You did _what?’_**

_‘Sergei is… one of those men who only responds to violence. Somehow, I gained his respect through my threat. Though, I still worry about the consequences of it…’_

“Still, he’s a pretty powerful guy, isn’t he? I mean, he managed to hide _Gabriel_ from _everyone_ , right?” Sam adds.

“It was one of the reasons I approached him in the first place,” Castiel agrees. “He is… knowledgeable, to say the least. So much so that British Men of Letters would frequently go to him for help.”

**‘Huh… well, if those poncy up their asses British asshats came to _him_ for help, then he must be good at what he does.’**

“Yeah, okay, so he’s good,” Eileen reluctantly agreed. “But at what cost? Last I remember, he nearly got Sam killed trying to get something from you guys-,”

“The Key to Death’s Door,” Cas fills in the blanks for her.

“Right. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sound like something that should be in the hands of someone with that much power and knowledge. Who knows what he might ask for this time?”

“We don’t know until we ask, right?” Sam attempts to douse the paranoia rising. “If he’s as good as advertised…”

Castiel sighs, hands instinctively reaching for his trench-coat pockets before remembering what body he was in. “He once told me his job was ‘to solve the unsolvable.’ At this point… our problem seems to fit that title.”

Sam cleared his throat, shuffling on his seat as his gaze switched between Eileen’s displeased expression to Dean’s – or he supposed Cas’s – uneasy face. “So, question is: Is the risk worth it?”

**‘I don’t like it.’**

_‘Neither do I.’_

**‘That settles it then. Get Sammy to call the douche up.’**

Occasionally, Castiel believed the Winchester brothers were able to read each other’s minds; especially when the two were in the midst of a particularly challenging hunt. This was a thought that came to mind once more as, shortly after Dean had voiced his opinion, Sam let out a small sigh as he dug into his jean’s pockets and pulled out his mobile phone with a grim face of resignation.

“Alright, Cas. I hope you can remember his number…”

* * *

The booming, heavy knocks on the bunker’s metal door resounded around the bunker, its presence immediately heightening the tension that hung in the air ever since Sam had hung up the phone. Quite frankly, Castiel was surprised Sergei even bothered to pick up the phone – especially considering the fact that Sam's number would have shown up as ‘unknown caller’.

Eileen was the first to jump to her feet, having shifted into a ball of nerves as they awaited Sergei’s arrival. Sam stood from his chair beside her, easing her nerves ever slightly with a comforting but knowing touch to her shoulder.

Not a word was passed between the three. Dean, having regained back control, could only wheel after Sam as he steadily approached the staircase, coming to a stop at the bottom as both he and Eileen watch Sam carefully climb up step by step.

Sam pulled his pistol out from his back pocket as he reached the door, cocking it and aiming it in preparation towards the doorway as he yanks the door open.

Sergei glances down at the gun pointed towards his chest in mock surprise, holding up his hands in fake surrender. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help to you with a bullet in my chest,” He points out, nodding his head towards the pistol in Sam’s hands. “Unless you only wanted to lure me here to end me – in which case, I commend you for your plan.”

Sam glowers at the Russian, but lowers his gun down none the less – though keeps a firm hand wrapped around the handle. “You’ll have to forgive me. Last we met, you nearly killed me for your own gain.”

“Yes. And last I met you, your angel had one of his dogs stalk my niece, ready to pull the trigger at any moment,” Sergei fired back, stepping past Sam and onto the stair’s balcony. “I’d say we both have a reason to be wary of one another, wouldn’t you? Alas, I am still here-,”

Sam cut off Sergei with a snort. “Don’t pretend you’re here out of the goodness of your heart.”

Sergei nodded his head in acceptance. “Fair enough. Now, where-,”

Sergei stopped mid-sentence, eyes landing on Dean sat at the bottom of the stairs. A rather obnoxious grin stretched across the Shaman’s face that unsettled Dean, glaring up at the large man as he descended the stairs towards him with a tense-looking Sam in tow.

“Dean Winchester!” Sergei bellowed halfway down the stairs; arms outstretched either side of him in greeting. “I do not believe we ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Pleasure ain’t exactly a word I’d use,” Dean grumbled in response, backing away from the stairs as the Russian got closer. “But I’m willing to play nice for the time being.”

“Ah, but that’s how the world works, no?” Sergei asks once he reaches the bottom of the staircase, blocking Sam from going any further -much to the younger brother’s annoyance. “We play nice - so long as the other has what we need.”

Sergei’s eyes drifted up from Dean, landing on Eileen’s fiery gaze locked on him. The confident grin on his face waivered by the slightest, but remained there. “Ah, but _you_ I remember. Good hand strength.”

Eileen’s glare didn’t budge. “And you best remember that.”

Sergei exhaled sharply in amusement – along with a hint of admiration – glancing back at Sam over his shoulder. He stepped to the side, allowing Sam to take the last steps down and join his brother and Eileen.

“Now, if we’re done with the threats…” Sergei announced with a clap of his hands. “How about we get down to the reason I’m here? Is it true, what I was told on the phone?”

“Yes,” Dean answered curtly, raising a hand to tap at the side of his head. “Cas is up here – with me.”

“Fascinating…” The Russian drawled out, tilting his head to the side as he took Dean in. “Angels are… not usually ones to give up control so freely…”

“Cas ain't like most angels,” Dean shot back. “And that’s why he’s the only one of ‘em that matters. But it can’t last forever-,”

“Oh, I know,” Sergei interrupted Dean, who had to bite on his tongue to stop himself from cutting into Sergei’s sentence, solely out of spite. “A little birdie told me about your trip to the Empty, Castiel… I was rather disheartened to hear this – considering you still owe me that favor. I can only imagine the sorry state your grace must be in… Do tell me; how did you manage to escape from its clutches? _Again?”_

“That would be because of me,” Dean answered for Cas.

“Hmmm…” Sergei hummed in interest. “I wonder; do you say that as a declaration of accomplishment, or as taking the blame?”

“Neither,” Dean got out between gritted teeth. “It was a… mutual agreement. I was… well, to put it bluntly, I was dying.”

“Naturally,” Sergei said dryly, glancing from Dean over to Sam and Eileen. “I heard a _lot_ about you Winchesters from the British’s grievances… Your apparent aversion to death.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, it should have been it this time. Right before I was about to go, I… I sent out one last prayer to Cas.”

“Even though he was dead?” Sergei asked, clearly perplexed by this.

“Especially because he was dead…” Dean answered softly, his answer only serving to throw Sergei off even more. “Anyway, next thing I know, there’s a portal opening up in front of me. Cas stepped through; this big mess of… _sludge_ that I didn’t even recognize as him at first.”

“Interesting… I suppose that explains why, well…” Sergei off handely gestured at Dean. “I assume Castiel is the only thing keeping you held together?”

“No. I’m healed – mostly. I wouldn’t die if he left, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

“Then… why hasn’t Castiel left for another vessel?”

“He can’t,” Sam answers, dragging Sergei’s attention over to him once more. “And that’s why we need your help.”

“Ah… now I understand why you were so insistent on recreating his vessel when we spoke over the phone…” Sergei proclaimed, nodding his head minutely along with his own realization. “It’s about his grace, isn’t it?”

The uncomfortable looks shared between Eileen and the two brothers was the answer Sergei was looking for.

“Oh yes, I know about Heaven’s little problem,” Sergei told them. “Last I heard, even the few angels that reside up there are struggling… but _you_ Castiel… it has been a while since you’ve felt yourself at full power, isn’t it?”

There it was again. That faint electric buzz that shot out from his head, spreading around his body. He wondered if this was Cas’s grace acting out inside him, trying to gain possession as it acts on Cas’s emotions, either with or without Cas’s control.

Which reminds him…

“That’s not all,” Dean’s word brought Sergei’s full attention back to him, roughly yanking up his t-shirt sleeve to reveal the raw-looking scar that somehow seemed to have raised even more in the past few hours.

Sergei’s brows practically shot up to his hairline at the sight in front of him, instantly able to sense the grace that was settled within that one patch of damaged skin on Dean’s arm. The surprise shifted to an amused and downright _delighted_ grin, leaning back with a belly laugh so out of nowhere that it nearly had Sam reaching for his pistol.

_‘Dean, I don’t think this is a good idea-,’_

“Oh-ho, Castiel – you sly dog!” Sergei got out once his bouts of laughter were over, though his tone still one full of amusement. “How did your superiors not kill you for such an indiscretion? They must have been _furious!_ Especially Michael - he mustn’t have appreciated you leaving such a mark on _his_ vessel!”

**‘The hell is he talking about, Cas?’**

_‘I said this wasn’t a good idea, Dean…’_

**“** W – Why would they have killed him?” Sam asked, still rather taken aback by Sergei’s sudden outburst of laughter. “Cas said the mark was left there from where he pulled Dean out of Hell. He was just doing his job, right?”

“That is… _partly_ true,” Sergei said. “But this right here? This is a mark of _ownership._ Angels leave such a brand on humans they intend to claim, almost as an offering – a proposition if you will – to the human who’s mark they leave.”

“Wait, _what?”_ Dean spluttered, his voice rising in volume without his control. “You telling me Cas _claimed_ me?”

There went Eileen and Sam with those knowing looks again…

**‘Cas, what the _hell?_ You saw me in Hell and decided – what – that I was your _property?’_**

_‘No! It wasn’t… the claim wasn’t intentional… I… I got carried away, okay? You have to understand – ALL of my life, my billions upon billions of years of existence had led up to this moment. The ONE job I had, and I was so proud to be the one to bear it. The angel intended to raise the righteous man from perdition. After what felt like years of battling through swarms of demons and other Hell filth… there you were. And your soul was so bright, so… you were everything you were described to be, and more. You were MY charge. MY human to watch over. And in that moment I held you to my chest as I pulled you out, my arms wrapped around you… As I said, I got carried away. I hadn’t even realized I had left the brand on your soul until I rebuilt your body.’_

“Is he… having a stroke?” Sergei broke the uncomfortable silence that had filled the room.

“No… That’s what he looks like when he’s talking to Cas in his head.” Sam said, shuffling awkwardly on the spot as he waited for the focus to come back into Dean’s eyes.

“Okay, so… Cas left this mark on me. We’ve established that.” Dean mumbled as he came back to reality, Cas’s confession leaving him with an oddly hollow yet warming feeling, the two juxtapositions fighting for dominance. “But why did it come back?”

“Come… back?” Sergei questioned.

“After a while, it kind of just… faded away,” Dean explained, experimentally probing at the scar. Just like last time, that same static electricity jolted out from the contact. “And now it’s returned, but we have no friggen clue why. It’s not like it started coming back as soon as Cas possessed me, it just seems to have all of a sudden… pop up again.”

“May I?” Sergei asks, gesturing a hand to the scar on his shoulder. The very last thing Dean wants is to have this guy touching the mark – and judging by the angry buzzing in his veins again, Cas wasn’t too thrilled at the idea either – but it wasn’t like they had any other ideas to fall back onto.

Sergei takes Dean’s silence as ‘not a no’, stepping up to his side and placing his hand atop the hand-shaped scar on Dean’s arm. His hand doesn’t quite _fit_ the same way that Cas’s hand did, and Dean feels his body instinctively try to move away from the _wrong_ hand on _Cas’s_ mark. It wasn’t Cas’s touch on his arm, and it seemed like the scar itself didn’t want it. Just this feeling of _wrongness_ that had the functioning parts of his body recoiling, face scrunching in discomfort that got Sam and Eileen on high alert.

“What are you doing?” Eileen demanded sharply, hands reaching for the knife stored in her jacket.

Sergei has his eyes firmly shut, his back turned to the two like he didn’t fear them in the slightest. “I am analyzing the scar, as was requested of me. Though… it appears that Castiel here does not want me doing so… Or, at least, his grace does not. That is _quite_ the claim you put on him, Castiel…”

Sergei’s eyes snapped back open, the removal of his hand from Dean’s arm a great relief to both Dean and Castiel.

“So?” Dean pressed, shaking his left arm in an attempt to shake off the ‘wrong’ feeling that lingered. “Find out anything?”

“I have two theories – which may be connected,” Sergei answered, glancing down at his own hand with his palm facing towards him, as if he could still feel the grace surging through Dean. “The first is that this is a result of Castiel’s presence inside you. The only other grace I sensed within Dean was Michael, the Archangel; so I assume this is Castiel’s first time possessing you?”

Dean nodded in response.

“I thought so. Whilst the scar itself has faded, the grace leftover from the mark would have remained inside you. Perhaps, now that the entirety – or, at least what remains – of Castiel’s grace has entered your body, it’s mixing with the grace that was already in your system caused a reaction; forcing the mark to return to the surface. However-,”

“That still wouldn’t make sense,” Sam butted in, about to fill in with what was going to be Sergei’s next point anyway. “It should have shown up immediately if that was the case, wouldn’t it?”

“Precisely,” Sergei agreed.

“So… why is it only showing up now?” Eileen asked. “What’s the second theory?”

The amusement on Sergei’s face had disappeared completely now. His gaze had been fixated on Dean ever since he had felt the mark for himself, a look of… actually, Dean wasn’t too sure _what_ the look was. Pity? Disgust? Sympathy? Sadness?

“Are you going to tell him, Castiel?” Sergei asked. Though his eyes were locked with Dean’s it felt like he was looking straight _past_ Dean, trying to reach the angel that was harbored within. “If you don’t – I will.”

**‘Cas… look, whatever this is… I’d rather hear it from you, okay?’**

_‘Dean, I… I don’t…’_

**_‘Do_ you know what he’s talking about? Do you… do you know the answer?’**

_‘I… yes. I think so yes. But Dean, it’s… I don’t see how… I just can't. I can’t…’_

“Just tell me,” Dean grated out, knowing this wasn’t going to be an argument he could win.

“I believe…” Sergei began, words trailing off as his line of sight dropped from Dean’s face back to the distractingly reddish scar. “…The reason the scar faded with time is simply because you did not accept the claim, Dean. To be expected, since you didn’t even know what it was. It is back now because, to put it bluntly… you have accepted the claim.”

The silence that followed these words had to be the most uncomfortable few seconds of Dean’s life. Sergei looked like he was regretting ever coming to this place, whilst Sam and Eileen weren’t sure whether they were supposed to be looking at Dean, Sergei, each other, or the floor.

“Not that it matters to the _actual_ problem,” Sergei added rather late, the additional information a blessing to break the uncomfortable tension they were in. “That is why I’m here, is it not?”

“Right…” Sam said blankly, shaking his head as he tried to bring himself back to reality. “Right! Yeah, uh… so, what do you think? Can it be done?”

“No,” The single word Sergei uttered was enough to kick all the air out of Dean’s lungs. “Or at least, not to my knowledge. I _could_ look into it further but, quite frankly… I do not see the point.”

“ _What?”_ Eileen spat, pushing past Sam’s calming hold and towards the towering Russian.

“I was quite certain from our conversation on the phone that it was not possible,” Sergei replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

Dean could feel the _rage_ that was Castiel burning inside him, the heat of it only fanning the fire of his own temper. “Then why the _hell_ did you bother coming here?”

“Call it curiosity,” Sergei took a few cautious steps away from the pissed off faces that surrounded him. “Castiel… I’ve lost count of the amount of ‘ _favors’_ you’ve owed me… and usually, your ‘ _favors’_ have been nothing more than _not_ murdering me or my loved ones. Quite frankly… you have been a thorn in my side – and so what reason would I have to put myself out to keep you alive?”

Dean’s grip on the wheels of his chair was so tight that he could feel the rubber material peeling away from underneath the force of his nails. He could feel the anger churning away inside him, ready to burst out with one wrong word…

“And besides…” Sergei continued, most definitely the wrong choice to make. The gloating, obnoxious grin was back on his face as he stepped closer to Dean, ignoring the gun Sam had drawn and currently had pointed at him. “Mostly… after what your brother told me Dean, I couldn’t miss out on an opportunity to see Castiel reduced to such a pathetic, weak form…”

That did it.

Except, it wasn’t Dean’s anger that boiled over. Castiel’s push to regain control was more like a _shove,_ practically thrown to the back of his mind as Castiel took over. Sergei didn’t even flinch as the furious green eyes glaring at him flashed with a burning fiery blue, steadily brightening in its intensity as Castiel’s grace collected together, the violent and disastrous power it was capable of brimming just underneath Dean’s skin…

Sergei only ‘tsked’ in response to the display of power, his disgustingly sly grin widening to reveal a row of misaligned, discolored teeth. “Careful there, Castiel… You don’t want to use up too much of your burning grace, now do you? At the rate it’s disintegrating at… I wouldn’t risk it.”

Sergei wrongly assumed he had won as he saw those flaring blue eyes revert back to the sharp green ones of Dean Winchester. Though, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It hadn’t been Castiel’s choice to give back control. Rather, Dean had _forced_ himself back into the driver’s seat as his fury propelled him forward, only just settling back into possession of his own body as his arm shoots out, catching the Russian by surprise as Dean’s hand wraps around his throat, squeezing it tight to clinch Sergei’s windpipe shut, staring up at the flailing Russian in repulsion.

“You listen here…” Dean growled at him in warning. Sam began to lower his gun down to the floor, knowing Dean had complete control over the situation – even if he didn’t exactly have control over himself right now.

“You wanna know the reason you’re here?” Dean continued, tightening his grip just a little more as Sergei attempted to pull away. “Why you, your niece, your acquaintances, everyone you love, _everyone_ on this Earth - and every other damn Earth out there - is here? Because me, Sam, Cas, and our kid? We kicked God’s _ass._ Jack brought _everyone_ back, and you know what? That wouldn’t have happened without Cas saving my life. That wouldn’t have happened without Cas insisting that Jack was good, that Jack would one day help to save the world. _All of this_ wouldn’t be possible without Cas, so how about you show him a little bit of _goddamn respect._ ”

Dean released his grip on Sergei's throat once the Russian’s face had shifted through a good few shades of purple. He stumbled back from the unexpected release, all but crashing into the metal barrier of the bunker’s staircase.

Sergei raised a hand to his already bruising throat, bulging eyes darting between all three of them. “What is it with you people and _choking…”_

“I suggest you get the hell out of our home,” Dean said. “Or like you said; you won't be doing much with a bullet in your chest.”

Sergei glanced back down to the pistol still held firmly in Sam’s hand, finger inching towards the gun’s trigger. “Alright, alright!” He said in defeat, backing up the staircase as to keep his eyes on the Winchesters – and the other weapons he knew they were likely carrying. 

The fury burning away in Dean’s veins – that of which he wasn’t sure was entirely his, or Cas’s – only ebbed away in the slightest once the Russian disappeared beyond the front door with a grumble of: “Thick-headed Americans…”

“So…” Eileen was the first to speak up, just barely resisting the urge to head up the bunker's stairs to double-check the door had locked itself. “That went about as well as I thought it would…”

“We’re not dead, so that’s a plus.” Sam offered.

“You guys have _really_ low levels of expectations…”

“I mean… we did find out _some_ information,” Sam pointed out. “Like, uh… we know why the mark is back…”

Sam turned his worried gaze back to his brother, who was being uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, he would chalk this up to another one of the ‘private conversations’ between Dean and Cas, but… that wasn’t what this looked like. Dean didn’t have that unseeing sheen over his eyes. He was staring directly at the floor ahead of him, jaw clenched so hard that it would surely ache something awful.

“Dean…?” Sam called his name timidly. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“You better tell me the truth here, Cas,” Dean said out loud, voice calm and steady in that detached way where your anger has passed new limits. “Were you hiding shit from us? _Again?”_

The only thing in Dean’s mind were his own thoughts. He could barely feel Cas’s presence, the only indicator that he was still here with him being that almost undetectable hum of something otherworldly settled in every cell of his body.

The coward was _hiding._

“ _Don’t you run away from me,”_ Dean hissed out, the outburst of anger catching both Sam and Eileen off guard. “Was that Russian dickhead telling the truth? Is your grace running out?”

A few seconds tick by in the unnaturally still bunker. Somewhere from within, Miracle whines; her high-pitched note of displeasure at her owner’s palpable anger piercing the uncomfortable quietness.

Castiel does not answer.

* * *

That night… Dean dreams of the Impala.

He dreams of endless miles of jet black tarmac and worn road markings rumbling underneath her pristine tires. He dreams of beautiful Kansas countrysides: of rolling green fields and tall, golden crops waving gently in the evening's cool breeze as they flash by his window.

He dreams of the perfect night sky. Pitch black nothingness, dotted with bright, beautiful stars that seemed to light his way as he drove.

Baby’s worn interior was bathed in an intermittent golden glow of the overhead street lights as he passes under them; the occasional flashes of light giving sight to his cracked and scarred knuckles tightly gripped around her leather steering wheel, hoping that the monotonous motions of driving would help to ease some of the tension in his body.

He dreams of Castiel.

Or, more accurately, Castiel decides to stop being a coward and face him.

There’s no indication of Castiel’s sudden presence in the passenger seat. No flap of wings to give away his arrival. One second the seat was empty, the next it was filled by an anxiety-filled angel that stared resolutely at the road in front. It had been a _long_ time since Cas had unexpectedly showed up in his car like that, so you’d expect him to flinch just a little. Maybe jolt in his seat, maybe ever jerk the steering wheel to the side and struggle to get Baby back under his control as his racing heart returns back to its normal speed.

Instead, his grip on the wheel tightens even more. He hears the leather screech in protest under his suffocating hands.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean bites out. He was still refusing to look at Cas right now. Mostly because there’s a good chance he’d punch him if he did. “You don’t get to do that like we’re all buddy-buddy right now. Not when you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Castiel stayed silent next to him.

“Is it true?” Dean repeated his question once more. “Is your grace burning out anyway? Even when you’re not using it?”

“Yes.”

Dean thought that hearing Cas tell the truth would make him even angrier than it already was. Strangely, though, it did not. Perhaps because he was already expecting the answer. Perhaps because he was prepared for Cas to try and dance around the issue by creating a series of elaborate lies that threw him off the scent.

The anger was still there, however. How could it not? But it was accompanied by another feeling. One that’s been plaguing him a lot lately.

He felt… _tired._

“Is it… is it because of me?” Dean asked. “Are you burning through your grace to keep me alive?”

“No,” Castiel asserted strongly. “This isn’t because of you. My grace, it… it was already fading, Dean. Coming back from the Empty, being placed in a vessel that is not mine… Your body is able to accommodate me, Dean – considering you were built with the ability to withstand an _Archangels_ grace… my grace is doing no damage to you. It is simply… unable to sustain itself no longer.”

“How long have you known?” Dean was pretty sure he didn’t even want to know the answer to this question. Mostly because…

“I knew as soon as I possessed you.”

Yep. That was why.

“You know from the _beginning?_ This whole time, and you-,”

The anger boiled over for a moment. Dean cursed sharply as he slammed his fist into the solid frame of her steering wheel, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet of Baby’s interior.

“You should have told us,” Dean scolded him. “As _soon_ as you realized, you should have told us! Told _me!_ We could-,”

“You could what?” Castiel interrupted him. “What could you have done different, Dean?”

“Lots of stuff!” Dean shot back. “We could have got me out of the hospital earlier! Sam and Eileen could have stayed put and helped us with the research instead of going on that hunt!”

“And let countless of innocent lives perish? Do you think I’m worth that?”

“Yes!” Dean’s yell boomed around the car, whipping his head to face Castiel for the first time, who could only stare at Dean in astonishment. “When are you going to realize it, you idiot! You’re _everything_ to me! Sam and Eileen could have passed that hunt onto another pair of hunters! And- _fuck –_ there we are messing about in my dumb dreams, having stupid fucking beach vacations and kicking back beers when I could have been _doing_ something to save you!”

Castiel leveled him with that cool, steely blue gaze. “I am going to die, Dean. My grace is going to burn away. I am sorry, but that is what’s going to happen.”

“No Cas, we’re going to-,”

“No, you’re _not,”_ Castiel said sharply, voice raising to match Dean’s ticked off tone. “We both know that recreating my vessel isn’t going to happen, Dean. I would have thought Sergei’s assessment of the situation would have clued you into that by now.”

“So what?” Dean said. “You just… strung us along? Pretended that everything would be fine, that you believed there was a way too?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell _FOR?!”_ Dean's voice rose sharply once again. “Why would you bother when-,”

“Maybe you should look at it from my perspective for once in your _stubborn_ life, Dean!” This was one of the rare times Castiel raised his voice at him, and it never failed to shut him up the second he heard it. “I accepted my end the day I took the Empty’s deal! Knowing that in my death, I was able to save _you?_ I was _content_ with that. Coming back from the Empty on what I knew from the start would be nothing more than borrowed time… it’s been a blessing. Do you know why?”

Dean could only stare blankly at Castiel in numb shock.

“Because of _you._ Your _‘dumb’_ dreams have been some of my own deepest desires, Dean! In what other scenario would I ever get to do such things? Even the simple ones, ones where it’s just _us._ Just us in the bunker, _talking._ I am grateful for this extra time, because it’s extra time with _you._ So yes, maybe I preferred ‘stringing you along’ and pretending that there was a chance. Perhaps I preferred being able to spend the last few days I have on this Earth in your dreams, by your side, instead of hours hunched over a desk table doing research I know leads to nowhere! Maybe that makes me selfish, but for once, I think I’m entitled to that little bit of happiness. Even if only for a little while.”

Baby’s tires squeal against the road as Dean slams his foot onto the brakes, leaving behind black burn marks on the road as the Impala comes to a sudden stop on the empty road. Dean’s chest heaves with heavy intakes of breath like he’s just ran a damn marathon, fingers trembling as they remain gripped tight around the steering wheel. “You… you can’t-,”

“I can’t what?” Castiel asks in that slow, dejected tone Dean hates hearing from him.

“You… how can… _fuck!”_

Dean promptly throws open Baby’s door, jumping out of his seat and slamming the door closed behind him. The cold, biting air does wonders to calm him down, taking in deep lungfuls of the night air as he attempts to clear his mind. With a shake of his head, he wanders over the front of Baby’s hood and perches himself down, burying his head into his hands in the hopes he’ll wake from the nightmare.

Because that’s what it was, now. A nightmare. Now he knows his one deepest fear will become true. He’s going to lose Cas. _Again._ And perhaps, worst of all… Cas seems to have given up the fight himself. Knowing this, and knowing what Castiel had just told him…

He’s sure he’s going to say or do something very, _very_ dumb.

The hinges to Baby’s doors creak as they’re pushed open, followed by the dull thud of it being closed much softer (and with more respect, if Dean’s being honest with himself) than he had. Dean hears the soft, padded footsteps of shoes against the asphalt, then the feeling of the hood dipping as an extra weight is added. He can feel the warmth of Cas’s body bleeding into the cold air next to him, only mere inches away. Of course he would… That was his thing. Plenty of space to stand or sit, and Cas always chose to get as close to Dean as humanly possible.

_Always._

“I’m sorry,” Castiel is the first to apologize. “I thought… perhaps it would be a kindness, to not tell you. To let your last memories of me be… of us ‘messing about in your dumb dreams’… I didn’t want you to worry.”

Dean pulls his head out of his hands at this, staring vacantly at the never-ending stretch of road ahead. “Why’s it always gotta be us, Cas? Why are we always dealt the shit cards…”

“Because that’s life,” Castiel responded, keeping his gaze fixed on his hands as they hung loosely between his knees. “It’s not often fair. And can sometimes be seen as downright cruel, but… I think that’s because we often focus on the negatives, more than the positives. They seem… bigger, somehow. More impactful. Sometimes, we have to stop focusing on the negatives so much. Don’t let them build up on you. Then… the positives seem just that little bit bigger.”

“Yeah, well… don’t know how many of the positives there’s gonna be when you’re gone, Cas. I… I can never seem to say goodbye to you.”

“This go around… you have more time. I know you’ll find the words.” Castiel said softly, turning his head to the side to look to Dean. “And even if you don’t… that’s okay. You were never a man of many words, Dean Winchester. You’re more… a man of action.”

Dean almost managed to laugh at that. “Yeah? How so?”

“Subtle things I’ve picked up over the years,” Castiel replied. “The pat of your arms on my back as you hug me. Your grasp on my thigh, when I returned from the death by that reapers hand. Your hand squeezing my shoulder as you wrap a blanket around my cursed body… brushing a hand over my growing stubble in Purgatory… the lingering touch of your hand on mine whenever I was saved from the brink of death…”

Castiel’s face broke out into a soft, sad smile as he reached the end of his list, finally raising his eyes up to lock with Dean’s. “You say more with your actions than I think you intend. But that’s okay. Your own personal language is the one out of hundreds that I valued learning the most.”

Dean could only hold the eye contact for a few seconds more after that, dropping back down to his lap as Castiel’s words whirled around his head. “Do, uh… Do you even know how long you have left before…?”

“At its current rate… I’d say a month at most. Perhaps a few weeks.”

“A few…?” Is all Dean can get out before his throat constricts, cutting him off. “Then what? You’re just… gone?”

“As I said before - I’m not too sure on what happens. Either I’ll simply burn away, or… I am forced to take control of you. Which is why there’s something I need to ask of you, Dean.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that one bit. “…What?”

“When the time comes… when my grace is nearly all burnt out… I am going to very weak,” Castiel’s eyes were burning into the side of his head, something that Dean couldn’t ignore. “I am… worried, to say the least; that the second option will be what occurs when it runs out completely. I can not allow that to happen. Do you understand me, Dean?”

“I… No, not really?”

“There’s a good chance that I will be so weak, I am unable to eject myself from your body,” Castiel continued in answer, reaching out a hand to rest on Dean’s shoulder. Dean bit back a gasp as the electricity shot through his body once more, even though there was a layer of flannel stopping Cas’s hand from touching the scar directly.

“If that is to happen…” Castiel continued, his voice firm with his urgency. “You are to forcefully eject me, Dean.”

“ _What?”_ Dean snapped, disgusted with even the _thought_ of doing such a thing. “Cas, I could _never-,”_

“I need you to promise me,” Cas said firmly, tightening his hold on Dean’s shoulder. “I could never, _ever,_ live with myself If I did that to you. When I tell you to, you _will_ revoke your permission. Do you understand?”

“Cas, you… you can’t expect me to do this…” Dean said, voice utterly broken.

“I need your word. Promise me you’ll eject me when the time comes, Dean. Otherwise, I’ll leave right now-,”

“NO!” Dean shot out a hand to wrap around the arm on his shoulder, keeping Cas firmly in place. “Don’t you even think about it. We… there’s still a chance.”

“Dean-,”

“ _There’s still a chance,”_ Dean insisted, his fingers scrunching in the familiar scratchy material of Cas’s trench-coat. “We still have a few more weeks at least to find something. But if we don’t… _dammit…_ okay… I promise, Cas. I’ll… I’ll do it.”

Dean felt the grip on his shoulder relax at his promise, releasing his own hold on Castiel’s arm and letting the angel's hand slip away. Immediately, he could feel the scar on his shoulder ache, keenly missing its owner’s touch.

“We’ll find a way,” Dean promised him quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We will.”

“You can try,” Castiel replied, gazing up at the night sky. “And that’s already more than I can ask of you.”

Looking to Cas, drinking in the subtle, relaxed smile on the angel's face as he was bathed in the ethereal silver glow of the moon, was when a question popped into Dean Winchester’s head. It was one he had been actively avoiding for… well, from the second Castiel had made _that_ confession. That world turning, gut-punching, revelation of a confession.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Hmm?” Castiel hummed low in response, keeping his gaze on the beautiful display of stars above.

“When did you realize you were in love with me?”

The relaxed smile slipped away at Dean’s words, his throat visibly shifting as he swallowed down his nerves.

“We both know we can’t pretend it never happened,” Dean said.

“I wasn’t pretending,” Castiel said. “I didn’t mention it for your sake. I assumed you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah… not too sure if I can… but this is me, trying.”

“I suppose it is…” Castiel said. He still couldn’t look at Dean.

“So… do you know when-,”

“When I watched you rake the leaves.”

“…When you… what?”

“It was in Fall,” Castiel elaborated. “Back in two thousand and ten. This was… when you were living with Lisa Braeden and her son. When Heaven was on the verge of Civil war, and I had not long after recovered Sam from Hell. I was… desperate. Desperate for an answer. For help. You were the first person I thought of Dean. Of _course_ you were.”

“But… you didn’t come to me…” Dean said. “I would remember that. You went with Crowley instead… you ripped open Purgatory for its souls…”

“I went to you,” Castiel maintained. “But you couldn’t see me. I kept myself hidden. I… I couldn’t bring myself to tear you away from your new life. For once, you looked at peace. You had, miraculously, found a way out of the Hunter’s life. And I couldn’t bear to be the one that brought you back in.”

“You should have,” Dean argued, but with no heat to his voice. This was an argument they had many years ago, now.

“Perhaps… but you know what was strange, Dean? As I watched you there, performing such a simple chore… I felt jealousy. A strange emotion, and one I had yet to fully comprehend… What was I jealous of? At first, I thought, perhaps, I wanted to take your place. To be free of the burden of my responsibilities. No more Heaven, no more fighting between my brothers and sisters… No more apocalypses, no more choosing sides… I thought that, somehow… I wanted to become human. To exist in a world where my biggest worries were taxes and maintaining the yard…”

“I’m guessing by the ‘at first’ that it wasn’t the reason you were jealous?”

“No, it was not,” Castiel agrees. “I was not jealous of you… I was jealous of Lisa. It’s wasn’t your place I wanted to take… it was _hers._ I wanted to be the one you came home to. I wanted to be the one that laughed with you in the kitchen as we prepared dinner. I wanted to be the one to stand by the window and watch you as you raked the leaves in our yard. I wanted _you._ It was then… that was when I realized I had fallen for you, Dean Winchester. And in realizing that… I knew I couldn’t take you away from the small piece of happiness you had found. So…”

“So, you went with Crowley…” Dean finished for him.

“Yes… and I believe you know the rest.”

“So… Jesus, that’s… what, ten years? _Ten years,_ Cas? How… how did you hold onto that for so long?”

The corner of Cas’s lips curled up, huffing out a small laugh. “It’s not something I had to ‘hold onto’, more… it was what drove me. No matter how dark or pointless everything seemed… I had to keep trying. Not just because it's the right thing, but because… because _you_ never gave up. Because I had you, and with you I had Sam, I had Jack, I had Claire, and Jody, and… well, through you, I had family. I had a reason.”

“Wow, uh…” Dean mumbled, awkwardly shuffling his legs atop the Impala. “You know, I uh… I’m not used to hearing stuff like that, man. Most girls that throw themselves out me, are, well… let’s say they’re not in it for _who_ I am, more…”

“There is no denying you’re a very attractive human, Dean,” Castiel told him. For some reason, hearing Cas calling him attractive in a way that was – well, _Cas_ like – brought a dusting of red to his face. “But your physical appearance is not the part of you that caught my attention.”

“Is it my plucky attitude?”

Cas pretended that he didn’t hear that amazing comment. “In those times where I see you doubt yourself… when you judge yourself so harshly… I wish I could give you my vision. Your soul, Dean, its… its light is what guided me to you in Hell. Even when we were down there, and you had been twisted by torture… I had never seen anything so beautiful.”

Dean laughed awkwardly – the only reaction he can fall back onto – scratching at the back of his head. “Come on… can’t be _that_ special… I imagine it’s got quite a few blemishes…”

Cas looked to Dean’s steadily reddening face, listening to Dean ramble in his deflections with a soft sigh. “Like I said… if only you could see.”

Dean risked a glance over to Cas, only to see the angel had returned his gaze back to the splattering of stars overhead. He turned his face in the same direction, feeling himself relax as he fell back into a routine he had done many times with Sam. Watching the stars… it was the one consistent moment of peace they were able to find on the road. Throughout all the moments of chaos, traveling from one hunt to another, one shitty rundown motel to another… the night sky was always there, waiting.

Dean watches in awe as a stream of light shoots across the sky, moving so quickly it was gone in a few blinks of an eye. Then there was another. And another. And another, and another. Shooting stars, speeding across the night sky like brushes of white paint across a dark canvas.

“Do you see that Dean?” Castiel asks him calmly, raising a hand to point a finger at the streaming stars. “The stars weep when they see you Dean Winchester, for they know they could never shine as bright.”

The words seem to suck all the air out of his lungs. Dean tears his eyes away from the night sky, looking to Castiel in dumbfoundment that the angel could make such a declaration. Castiel was still looking up at the sky though, that relaxed smile on his face like he hadn’t just said yet another thing that sent Dean’s head spinning.

“I still remember the day God placed the stars in the sky. This Galaxy was the first he made, of course. The Sun was the first part of it created, and was already there before I was created myself… Back then, as you can imagine, God was… he was… I don’t even have the words for it. He was our creator, our father – I don’t think ‘ _love’_ is an adequate enough word.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean said. “You didn’t know what Chuck was yet…”

“No, we didn’t. Life on Earth had yet to even begin. Space was just… that. _Space._ Darkness… One day, God turned to us and said ‘How about we fill in the blanks?’, and then… it was truly remarkable to see, Dean. It took him _so_ long to do, used so much energy… Now, thinking back on it, the time seemed to go by in the blink of an eye, but at the end of it? There was _this_. What was once a blanket of nothingness was filled with these small dots of light. They seemed so insignificant from afar, but to know they were these _giant_ balls of light… It was then, actually. God had spent all that time working, _creating_ , utterly exhausted, and yet… seeing the stars is, I believe, when he had the idea for Souls. Each more powerful than a hundred suns… There was never doubt from us, and yet when he did it… I didn’t think I would ever get to see something more beautiful than the first soul. I was proven wrong, billions of years later, when I laid eyes upon _yours._ ”

And that’s when Dean knew.

No, not knew… That’s not the right word. It wasn’t like a punch to the gut, kick to the head moment of realization. It wasn’t something that had him running for the hills, doubting everything he thought he knew about himself.

It was more like… accepting. _Acknowledging it._

He was in love with Cas.

For all he knew, it could have been as long as Cas had known. It certainly wasn’t ‘love at first sight’ or any crap like that. No, he was downright _terrified_ of Cas the first time he saw him. Maybe a little admiration, sure. It’s not every day you meet an _Angel;_ one that pulled you out of Hell on _God’s orders_ no less. And it sure as hell took him some time after that to warm up to him. But somewhere along the way, this long winding journey of theirs… he had fallen for Cas.

It had come naturally. It wasn’t destiny either. He _hated_ that word. There was no way in hell that Chuck wrote this in as some weird, perverted love story. It just wasn’t his style, because then it would give Dean some little semblance of happiness, and he _knows_ Chuck did all he could to keep him from that.

It didn’t happen all of a sudden. It just… _happened._

When he tried to think of himself getting out of the hunter life, settling into that domestic civilian one… he could never see it. Mostly because… he always thought he’d be alone that way. Sam would go on and live his own life, and where would that leave him? Whenever he tried to imagine himself meeting someone, picturing that person by his side… the face was always blank. Which is perhaps why he could never see the whole thing working out. And now, taking in the sight of his angel smiling so peacefully as he recounts the few memories he has of a God that seemed to care… he lets himself _feel_ it. He lets himself fill in the blank face with Cas’s…

And it just _fits._

Castiel began talking again, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. “Dreams are _fascinating,_ aren’t they? A survival mechanism built into your subconscious…. Did you know that’s why nightmares are so common? It’s almost like… a form of training. A way for your brain to act out the stresses in your waking life… but then you can also dream of _incredible_ things.”

A smile creeps across Dean’s face as he listens to Cas talk so enthusiastically, watching as he waves his hand to gesture all around them.

“Take this, for example! I know it’s not possible with _all_ humans, and it’s _incredibly_ rare, but the fact that you can sometimes find a way to take _control_ of your dreams! With one single thought, with one wave of the hand-,” Castiel waves his hand across the sky above them, creating another batch of strikingly vivid shooting stars that trailed after his hand. “-You can have _anything_ you desire.”

“Anything, huh?” Dean asks, unable to wipe the giddy smile off his face.

“Yes, _anything!”_ Castiel repeated firmly, finally tearing his eyes from the night sky back down to Dean. “Anything you can-,”

Dean leans across the hood of the Impala, wrapping a hand around Castiel’s familiar blue tie and yanking him closer. Cas’s words stutter off as Dean’s lips crash into his, feeling Dean’s other hand grasping tightly at the lapel of his trench-coat.

Dean tries to fight down his concern that Cas isn’t kissing him back. In fact, Cas isn’t doing much of anything other than sitting there frozen like a block of ice. When he pulls away from Cas, he’s met with blue eyes wider than he’s ever seen, and a look of both awe and _horror_ on the angel's face.

“Why did you do that?” Castiel whispers to him, raising a hand to his still tingling lips.

“That’s kind of a stupid question, isn’t it?” Dean retaliated.

“Dean, you-,” Castiel stops, shaking his head with his eyes scrunched closed. “ _Please…_ don’t do it like this… _Not_ like this…”

Dean frowned at the sight of Cas scooting away from him. “What are you talking about, man?”

“I know you feel bad for me…” Castiel said. “I know that you feel guilty for the way things were left when the Empty took me. And now, knowing that I don’t have long left… I don’t want _this_ to happen out of guilt, Dean. Because you think it’s how to say goodbye, or because… because you think it’ll make me feel _better._ ”

“Hey, hey, hey – this ain’t pity,” Dean insists, his frown deepening. “And it sure as hell ain’t a goodbye. I told you Cas; we’re gonna find a way to keep you here. You know why?”

Castiel only stares warily at him in response.

“Because _we’re_ making our own damn destinies now. We’re writing our own story, and guess what, Cas? You’re in mine. We’re gonna get you your body back. Then me and you and gonna take Miracle for long walks in the woods. We’re gonna watch all those classic movies I promised I’d watch with you. We’re gonna have those lazy Sunday mornings where we both try and race each other to make breakfast in bed for the other. I’m going to have those days where I wake up and look at you, and I’m gonna realize just how damn lucky I am that I have your love. And I’m going to kiss you every time I remember that. You know why?”

The cautious hope on Castiel’s face is absolutely heartbreaking to see. Even worse is when he shakes his head. He should know. He should _know._

“Because now I _know_ , Cas. I know what those words should have been when you said goodbye to me. I’m not kissing you because I feel bad for you, Cas. I’m kissing you because I love you. It’s as simple as that.”

Castiel blinks rapidly at him for a few moments, the blank and emotionless look on his face doing nothing to soothe Dean’s nerves.

“As simple as…?” Cas rumbles out, the blankness giving way to disbelief, and… wait, was that anger?

“You stupid son of a-,” Castiel growls out before grabbing Dean by the collar of his shirt – who thought for a split second that Castiel was going to take a swing at him. Instead, he’s met with Cas’s lips on his own; an insisting and demanding pressure that took him by surprise. Cas’s hand shifts from his collar, resting atop the scar on his shoulder, where that spark of electricity has him gasping into Cas’s mouth. Dean’s hands find themselves grasping onto the sleeve of Cas’s trench-coat, the other resting on the side of Cas’s face; the sharp scratchiness of Castiel’s stubble against the palm of his hand being a sensation he isn’t used to - but welcomes.

“There is _nothing_ simple about you Dean Winchester,” Castiel takes a moment to break away from his lips to growl at him. “Only _you_ could make something so damn _complicated…”_

“…Sorry?” Dean meekly offers, the charming smile he usually puts on for girls coming out a bit more lopsided than he intended.

Castiel can only sigh, dropping his head down to rest against Dean’s. Dean lets his eyes slide closed at the comforting contact, taking in deep breaths of air.

“I really am sorry,” Dean whispers to him, his breath warm against the night air as it fans across Castiel’s face. “I can be a little slow at times… it shouldn’t have taken me this long.”

“I’m still not entirely sure this is _real_ ,” Castiel admits. “I never even let myself imagine what it would be like, because… I knew it could never happen.”

“I never knew it was something you wanted,” Dean tells him. “I didn’t know it was something you _could_ want. I thought you always saw me… as a friend. A brother.”

“I did. Because that’s the way you saw me. And that was already more than I ever thought I could have.”

Dean’s face softened at that, closing his eyes again so he wouldn’t have to see the enduring pain on Cas’s face. “You deserved so much more, Cas…”

Castiel timidly reaches his hand out, the pads of his fingers brushing against the top of Dean’s hand where it rested atop the Impala’s hood. Dean twists his hand around, letting Cas’s fingers intertwine between his own, another small smile etched across his face as Cas’s thumb wraps around his.

“If I have this?” Castiel says, squeezing Dean’s hand. “I have _you?_ There’s nothing else I could ask for.”

Dean tilts his head down to place another soft kiss on Cas’s lips, lingering there for a moment as he lets himself take in all that is _Cas._

“Home…” Dean whispers against Cas’s lips, getting a confused hum from his angel in response.

“Home?”

“That’s what your grace smells likes,” Dean tells him with a lazy grin, brushing his thumb leisurely across Castiel’s hand. “You smell like home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally... the slow burn is over, folks. Not that I'll ever beat Supernatural's record of twelve whole ass years, but still.


	9. One Last Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your father shouldn’t have-,” Cas cut himself off with a frustrated grunt, a few octaves away from being a growl. “You were a child. The things he did to you… the responsibilities he forced you to bare… I’m sorry, Dean. I know you have a lot of respect for your father, but that is not a respect I can share. 
> 
> “Guess we both got too much respect for our dads, huh?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat. “You gotta admit that God was more of a disappointment than my dad though, right?”
> 
> “The fact that your father is slightly better than an absentee and destructive God isn’t an achievement, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shortness of this chapter! Last chapter was long than usual, and it's been pretty stressful this week. I also took a day off from writing to catch the Divisional Game that started at half 9 over here in the UK (GO PACK GO!), which I'll be doing again to catch the game this Sunday, but I'm hoping to power through and get a normal sized chapter up next week!
> 
> Chapter Song: 'Standing With You' by Guy Sebastian

I know I may not say the right thing,  
Let me tell you one thing,  
Yeah 'cause there is one thing,  
You're wrong about,  
This world would not be a better place,  
I don't wanna lose you now

_**-'Standing With You' by Guy Sebastian** _

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

That morning, Dean woke up with a smile on his face.

They were happening quite often, he realized. At least, ever since Cas has taken up residence in his mind, that was. Part of him’s going to miss having Cas up in his head, helping him to turn his nightmares into significantly more pleasant dreams. He supposes that’ll all stop once they get Cas out of his head and back into his body.

Which they _will._

Miracle groggily raised her head from the bed at the feeling of Dean shuffling about, yanking himself over to the edge of the bed and into his wheelchair. She huffed that long-suffering ‘how dare you awaken me’ dog sigh at him, but got to her feet with a bone-cracking stretch none the less, obediently following her owner out of the room.

Sam and Eileen were already up (as usual), huddled around the library’s table with a few sheets of paper haphazardly sprawled out between then; a stark contrast from the usual piles upon piles of books it had been the past few days. The two had their heads close together, whispering excitedly to one another as Sam over-enthusiastically gestured to one of the papers in front of him.

“Morning nerds,” Dean greeted them oh so kindly, balancing a scalding cup of coffee a little too close to the family jewels than he’s comfortable with as he pushed himself towards the two. “What’s got you two so jittery at this time of the day?”

Sam and Eileen straightened themselves up, turning their attention towards Dean. “First of all, it’s eleven in the morning. We’ve been up for five hours.” Sam shot back. “Second of all… what’s got you so smiley?”

“Huh?” Dean finds himself raising a hand to his face self-consciously, only to confirm that yep, he still had the smile planted on his face. “What? Something wrong with me being in a good mood?”

“With you? Yeah, since it usually means you’ve put Nair in my shampoo again or something.”

“Yeah, that was a good one…” Dean said wistfully, thinking back fondly to the memory of Sam throwing every bathroom product on hand at him upon seeing the state of his hair.

“Come on, Sam,” Eileen said playfully, wiggling her eyebrows at Dean whilst nudging at Sam’s elbow with her own. “Obviously, Dean had a… _nice_ dream…”

Sam’s questioning frown quickly broke out into an amused grin, the two sporting similar expressions that they wielded against a quickly reddening Dean. “Ooohhhh… Was that it, Dean? Did you and Cas have a nice ‘ _talk_ ’ about… y’know, recent events?”

“Shuddup,” Dean grumbled, shooting the two warning glares as he slammed his coffee cup atop the table.

_‘You’re very adorable when you blush, Dean. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.’_

**‘You shut up too. You’re only going to make me blush more.’**

_‘All the more reason to keep complimenting you,’_

“See, look!” Eileen exclaimed jovially to Sam, waving to Dean’s blank face. “He’s been awake, what, ten minutes? Can’t go more than _ten minutes_ without Cas!”

“Actually, Cas was giving me tips on the way I can run over both your feet with my chair and make it seem like an accident.”

_‘I did no such thing!’_

“Damn Cas, _and_ you want me to hide a bag of Miracle’s crap under their mattress? Now that’s just _cruel.”_

_‘Don’t think I won’t take over your body to apologize, Dean. I’ll do it.’_

“Yeah, sure Dean,” Sam’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he shot bitch face number twenty-eight at him. “I’m sure _Cas_ was the one to come up with such childish ideas. I bet Cas has never played a practical joke in his _life._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s condescending tone, picking up his cup of coffee to take a sip. **‘Sam’s getting a little too cocky for my tastes…’**

_‘I find myself in one of those rare occasions where I agree with you. Although, he is correct I’ve never played a practical joke before. That being said, I now have a good idea of who my first victim will be…’_

Dean snorted into the cup of coffee he held to his lips, wincing at the hot splash of coffee to his face whilst simultaneously choking on his own laughter. **‘Only if you promise I can help you. And nothing life-threatening or harmful. Well, nothing _too harmful,_ anyway.’**

_‘I’m not sure if this is typical of most human’s first dates, but I’m more than happy to agree.’_

**‘Since when do we do anything the ‘typical way’, Cas?’**

_‘Good point.’_

Sam shook his head with the beginnings of a pleased smile, accepting the box of tissues Eileen had gotten up to get and sliding them over to Dean. “Not sure if I wanna know what you guys are talking about…”

“Glad to see you guys _are_ talking,” Eileen noted as she dropped back down into her chair. “Last we heard you talking to Cas, you uh… you didn’t seem on good terms.”

“All jokes aside, you guys _did_ talk, right?”

Dean quickly mopped up the spilled coffee with a handful of tissues, tossing them into the bin underneath the table with a soft sigh. “Yeah, we talked… Turns out Sergei wasn’t lying. Cas’s grace is running out on its own.”

Eileen and Sam’s face dropped at the news, practically deflating at the table. “So… what does this mean?” Sam asked.

“Mean’s we’re running out of time,” Dean answered somberly, leaning forward to rest against the top of the table, pulling his cup of coffee closer to him.

“How long until…?”

“Few weeks. Month – at most.”

“Shit…” Sam mumbled, running a hand through his hair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “That’s… not great.”

“No. It sure as hell ain't.” Dean said, finger tapping anxiously at the side of his cup. “I’m fresh out of ideas, and Cas…”

“What? What about Cas?” Eileen questioned.

“Let’s just say Cas don’t have much hope,” Dean answered. “He… he thinks we’re wasting our time here; doesn’t think there’s any way of doing this.”

“Yeah? Well, tell Cas to stop talking like an idiot, because we’re not giving up on him.” Sam said strongly, twisting one of the papers on the desk around before sliding it across to Dean.

“What’s this?” Dean asked, straightening back up as he plucked up the paper from the table.

“An idea,” Sam replied. “I was just thinking… do you remember back after… after what happened to mom, with… with Jack?”

Dean paled at the reminder, glancing up at Sam over the top of the paper. He nods his head.

“We had asked Rowena if there was something she could do to bring her back, remember?”

“Course I remember,” Dean answered dryly, dropping his gaze back down to the paper full of complicated-looking Latin. “Didn’t work. What came back was just…”

The realization struck Dean just as he was about to say it. “A shell…” That was exactly what they were looking for. A shell. A _vessel. “_ But wait, it-,”

“It couldn’t support any life,” Sam answered grimly. “But _then_ … Rowena had been working on the spell behind the scenes. And she _succeeded._ What you’re holding is the spell I used to bring Eileen’s body _back, then_ put her soul into her body.”

“But-,” Eileen butted out before Dean’s hopeful expression could grow any bigger. “That’s _kind_ of the problem we have. We had my soul to bring me back, to recreate my body. Cas… doesn’t have that.”

“Right,” Sam said. “If we tried to use this spell with Cas’s grace… Cas’s grace isn’t connected to Jimmy’s body. There’s nothing for it to rebuild _on._ ”

“Okay…” Dean muttered, feeling a little disheartened. “So… what then? We can’t use it?”

“Well, I was thinking,” Sam begun, a little more excited this time. “It almost seems like we need a mix of the two spells. Brings back a body that can sustain life, but not one that requires a soul to be built upon.”

“And… how do we do that?” Dean asked.

“I have no idea. But I think I know who can.” Sam said, already standing up from the table. “We need to talk to the person who made the spells. Think we’re gonna have to summon the new Queen of Hell.”

* * *

Something about summoning always made Dean feel uneasy. Call it past trauma from previous crossroad deals, call it dealing with demons _full stop,_ call it whatever. It didn’t matter if they personally knew the demon in question (which was something he never thought he’d say in his life), there was still something so… _wrong_ about it. Which is good, he supposes. Perhaps something built into the soul that’s repulsed by the twisted one it’s summoning; a glimpse of what will happen to itself if accepting the deal proposed.

Dean eyed Sam as he finished setting up the candles atop the sigils they had hastily drawn onto the library table, the uneasiness he had already been feeling only heightening when Sam picked up his demon blade, holding his hand over the bowl of summoning ingredients, once more ready to bleed for Dean.

“Are you sure this is even going to work?” Dean asked before Sam could make the cut. “This is supposed to summon the _king_ of hell, isn’t it?”

“Doubt summoning spells care much about gender equality, Dean.” Eileen retorted.

Dean sighed, scratching at his furrowed brow. “You know what I mean… Maybe the spell was _specifically_ for Crowley. What if Rowena has a different spell? And what’s to say she’ll even bother showing up anyway?”

“We’re about to find out,” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “If not… we can always take another trip down to Hell.”

“You say that like it’s normal…” Eileen added under her breath.

Sam slides the blade across his palm, barely wincing at the familiar sting it brings. Another scar to add, a long tally both brothers shared. The burn worsens as he squeezes his hand into a fist, forcing out a trickle of blood that darkens the dry herbs within the bowl.

Sam picks up a box of matchsticks next to the bowl, sliding one out of the pack and quickly striking it against the side. A flame bursts into life atop the match, all three pairs of eyes in the room fixated on the little golden flickering tip.

“Et ad congregandum... eos coram… _me…”_ The Latin drops off Sam’s tongue like it was his first language. The match drops along with his last word, the dry ingredients within the bowl setting aflame at the slightest contact with the match, shooting out a tall flame that had Sam stepping back from the bowl at the wave of heat that came with it.

The bunker was unnaturally quiet. Not the creak of the old pipes, or the whirring of old equipment, or the buzzing of electricity running through an ancient wiring system. All three of them were holding their breaths, scanning meticulously around the room for a flash of auburn hair and an unnaturally bright dress that only Rowena could pull off.

“Did… did you do it wrong?” Dean asks, wheeling over to the table and peering inside the burnt contents of the bowl.

“I don’t think so,” Sam replied, not sounding too sure of himself. “I followed the instructions…”

Eileen grabbed Sam’s hand as he peered down at the book on the table, busying herself with cleaning the wound as the two looked over the instructions. “Maybe we didn’t use enough of something?” She offered off-handedly as she began winding a roll of gauze around Sam’s hand, keeping it tight enough to restrict the blood flow, taping it down to his hand and making sure it was secure.

“Maybe…” Dean says, rubbing a hand across his mouth as he thinks. “Or maybe she just didn’t want to show up-,”

“Or maybe I was pondering over what mess you’re bringing me into this time.”

All three wheeled around (quite literally, in Dean’s case) at the unforgettable Scottish accent, greeted by the sight of a – thankfully – smiling Rowena as she stretched out on one of the chairs, a tumbler of whisky already in hand.

You know what they say… Like mother, like son….

“Hello, boys,” She greeted them brightly, eyes sliding over to Eileen who was – understandably – looking rather unsure. “ _And_ girls! Who’s this one?”

“A friend,” Eileen answered warily. “And I hope I can say the same of you… considering it’s your spell that brought me back.”

“Oh,” Rowena said brightly, glancing up to Sam. “You found it then? The spell?”

“More like Chuck led me to it…” Sam’s mouth twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. “But… yes.”

“Well-,” Rowena clapped her hands, making them startle somewhat at the harsh sound. “I’m always one for a wee bit of gossip and catch up, but I’m guessing you didn’t invite me here for a chat?”

Rowena’s gaze had dropped down to Dean as she said that, a surprisingly sympathetic look crossing the witches – demons…? Witch-demons-queen of hell’s face. “Firstly, I suppose I should offer my thanks for saving the world again. At least, I assume you have, since we’re all still here.”

“That’s… mostly thanks to you,” Sam said with a genuine smile of appreciation.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Samuel,” Rowena brushed him off. “And secondly… if you’re here to bargain with me for your legs Dean…”

“That’s not it,” Dean quickly corrected her. “It’s… it’s kind of complicated-,”

“Then I guess it’s something to do with the angel sitting pretty in your head?”

Dean’s mouth swung shut, taken aback by Rowena’s spot-on assessment of the situation.

“Oh yes – I can feel the disgustingly pure energy coming from you, Dean. I’d recognize grace anywhere… Question is: which one is it?”

Before Dean could ever answer, a look of dawning realization had passed over Rowena’s face. She peeled one of her manicured hands off her glass, pointing to all three of them as she counted. “One, two, three… We’re missing one, aren’t we?”

“Two,” Sam says. “We got Jack back, but uh… he’s kind of… God now? We haven’t seen him since we dealt with Chuck…”

Rowena stared blankly at Sam for a few moments. Her eyes flickered between the three of them, waiting for one to reveal the joke. At their serious faces, she raised her glass to her lips and drained the drink in one go, handling the fiery burn of the whisky like it was nothing. “Another God… this one a three-year-old child… what could go wrong?”

“World’s not ended yet,” Dean tried to stay optimistic.

“And what of Mr. Blue Eyes?” Rowena asked. “If I’m putting two and two together… he’s currently the one hitching a ride in your noggin?”

“For the time being. Which is kind of where we could use your help.”

Rowena sighs deeply, looking down drearily to the empty tumbler in her hands. “Come on then; tell me the story.”

“I… _we_ lost Cas. He, uh… he kind of sacrificed himself.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow at him, her long red nails playing a plinking tune across the glass of her drink. “For what?”

Dean swallowed harshly. “For me.”

Rowena narrowed her eyes at him, glancing over to Sam and Eileen for a split second before her eyes settled back on Dean. She kept her focus there, leaning forward in her chair as she asked: “Did you fix it?”

“Huh?” Sam blurted out, unsure of the meaning of Rowena’s question. Because, after all, it wasn’t intended for him. Then again, even Dean seemed unsure of the meaning…

“Dean?” Rowena says his name in the scolding kind of tone you’d expect from a mother. “Did you _fix_ it?”

“ _Oh…_ ” Dean exclaims as the memory floods back; the two of them sat what felt like miles apart in Rowen’s throne room, unable to even look at one another as they received what – if Dean’s being honest with himself – was a much-needed counseling session from the _Queen of Hell_ , of all people… “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we fixed it.”

Rowena nodded appreciatively at that, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Did you finally figure out what fifth base was with him…?”

“Alright, let’s not go there,” Dean grumbled, annoyed to find he was blushing _again._ “Point is, I should be dead _twice_ by this point if it weren’t for Cas. And that’s only over the span of these past two months.”

“So other than God… what _else_ was trying to kill you?”

“Death herself,” Dean answered. “Cas stepped in… Summoned the Empty on a deal he didn’t tell us about.”

_‘I’m sensing you’re still angry about that.’_

“I see… And so Castiel here was taken to the Empty?” Rowena asked.

“Yep.”

“…And the second time?”

“It was… there was a bunch of vamps and…” Dean tried to describe his death in a way that didn’t sound as lame as it did in his head. “I kind of got shoved into a nail…”

Dean knew that look on Rowena’s face. That was the look of someone trying really, _really_ hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry?”

“It was this big friggen’ rusty rebar or something, okay!” Dean threw up his hands as he answered. “One of the vamps got the upper hand on me and shoved me onto the damn thing; pipe went straight through my back and pinned me there.”

“Wow… I suppose that explains the new wheels…”

“Rather have these than the death that was coming,” Dean says. “Cas saved me. _Again._ When I prayed to him, he… he heard me.”

“You woke him up?” Rowena asks, sounding truly amazed by this revelation. “From the _Empty?”_

“I did,” Dean answers, a hint of a proud smile on his face. “And Cas dragged himself out of that place to get to me.”

“You could ring a bell and that angel of yours will crawl out of any dark crevice to get to you, Dean Winchester. He’s stubbornly loyal, and a damn fool for it.”

“What can I say? He’s a Winchester; willing to defy death itself to save the ones he loves.”

“ _One…”_

“What was that?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing…” Rowena said dismissively in much too of a high-pitched, cheery voice for Dean to think it’s ‘ _nothing’._ “So, your angel pulls off the impossible once more by escaping the Empty to get to you… and, since he’s in your head, I’m assuming you agreed to possession?”

“Yeah, I did. Like I said, I was dying, and Cas… Cas didn’t have his vessel.”

“The Empty kind of… destroyed it…” Sam added awkwardly to a puzzled looking Rowena. “Cas thinks it’s because he didn’t die like most angels. The Empty literally swallowed him whole; pulled him into the Empty as part of itself.”

“And now Cas’s grace is burning out,” Eileen added on too, feeling a tad bit guilty by how overwhelmed Rowena was looking at the influx of information. “It has been for a while, actually…”

“And that’s why we need your help,” Dean took over. “We can’t just throw Cas into a new body; he’s not strong enough to survive the transfer, and… he kind of has a connection to the old one. Can’t keep him with me either, coz once his grace runs out… well, it’s bad news all round.”

“I’m still not entirely sure what it is you’re asking of me…” Rowena sounded moments away from asking them where their nearest liquor cabinet was.

“We want to know if there’s a way to rebuild Cas’s old body.” Dean wheels himself closer to Rowena, well aware of the pleading tone his voice has taken up. “We’re running out of time, Rowena. Time, and options.”

“We thought maybe something could be done with the resurrection spell,” Sam nervously added on, scrambling for the papers of the spell sat atop the table and waving them in the air. “We were looking over them earlier, and it just… it seems likes a starting point maybe?”

Sam hurried over to Rowena with papers in hand, handing them back over to the witch look a schoolboy apprehensively handing in his work. Rowena accepted the papers being shoved into her free hand, tearing her eyes away from Dean’s desperate face to Sam’s frantic movements.

“Sort of like a mix between the two, actually,” Sam added on hurriedly. “You know, what with the first one not being able to support life without a soul, and the second one _needing_ a soul, so if we-,”

“Sam…” Rowena said his name softly, stopping him from rambling on more. Dean hated that tone. He hated the unusual level of kindness coming from Rowena. Because he knows that’s the kind of tone you use in the hopes of softening the blow of what you’re about to say next.

“You can’t do this, can you?” Rowena’s eyes flicker over to Dean at his crushed words. Considering Rowena had attempted to kill both him _and_ Cas in the past, on top of becoming Queen of Hell… the shine of sympathy in her eyes was surprisingly genuine.

“No, I can’t.”

“But-,” Sam tried, but was promptly stopped by Rowena’s raised hand.

“Angels are different. With Eileen here… her spirit was _attached_ to her physical form. You had something to work with there, you see? The resurrection spell, it’s… it’s more like turning the spirit into _flesh._ With Castiel…”

“We’ve only got his grace,” Dean says, sinking down into his chair as the realization they’ve met another dead end begins to sink in.

“Which isn’t connected to his vessel,” Rowena continues off Dean’s words. “If we tried messing around with his grace… who _knows_ what could happen? It has nothing to rebuild upon. We could easily end up simply stripping Castiel of the remainder of his grace, and with how volatile an angel's grace can be… we may accidentally turn it into a weapon.”

Rowena stands from her chair, meekly offering the papers of the resurrection spell back to Sam. Sam looks to the papers, shoulders drooped and head hung low as he takes them back.

“I really am sorry, boys,” Rowena tells them, patting Sam’s arm as she glances down to Dean. “If I hear something different… if you find anything in the Book of the Damned, then… you know how to call me. But the truth of the matter is I simply don’t have much experience with angels. And even if I did… I don’t even know how that could help with _this_ matter.”

Dean’s thankful smile comes out more strained than he intended, the effort of forcing his face into one dampened by his crushed spirit. “Well… thanks for showing up, anyway. At least now we know, y’know… you can’t help; so that’s crossed off the list…”

“When you said you didn’t have much time… how much did you-,”

“Not enough,” Dean says with a slight shake of his head.

Rowena dropped her hand down so her fingers were just lightly brushing against the top of Dean’s shoulder. The touch was oddly mother-like, and it had Dean scrunching his eyes shut as he tries to push down the despair that was threatening to rear its ugly head.

“I’m sorry,” Rowena says quietly, as if only to him. It seemed like the final nail in the coffin. Like.. this was it; Cas was right… They couldn’t bring his body back. His grace was going to burn out. He’ll have to force Cas out. He’ll have to say goodbye, _again_ , but now it’s different – now he knows he loves him, now _Cas_ know he loves him, and…

He can’t _do this._

“Good luck, boys,” Rowena drawls out, the comforting touch on Dean’s shoulder slipping away. Her eyes drift over to meet Eileen’s, the smallest of a smile twitching at her lips. “ _And_ girls… I think you’re going to need it.”

And then, she was gone.

And the last of their hope seemed to go with her.

“That’s that, I guess,” Dean says, staring vacantly at the spot where Rowena was moments ago.

The pitter-patter of paws signals Miracle’s arrival, emerging from her hiding spot now the stranger had left. She makes a bee-line for Dean, slinking over to his wheelchair and resting her head in his lap. It’s able to pull the smallest of smiles from Dean, rubbing underneath her ears and brushing his hands through her thick fur. “Cas was right… you are able to sense a lot of stuff, huh?”

“Dean…” Sam steps away from Eileen’s side. “I’m sorry…”

Dean’s face twists into an amused frown, glancing up to his brother’s guilt-ridden face. “What’s there to be sorry for?”

“Getting your hopes up, I suppose. You… you seemed really invested in this idea too, you know? And I… I don’t know, I guess I’m just sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, well… couldn’t be that easy, could it? Would have been too good to be true…”

“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

Dean freezes at Sam’s confession, getting an unhappy whine from Miracle that the scritches had stopped.

“Something I remembered, right before we summoned Rowena. Even if she _could_ help with the spell… I don’t think it would have worked either way.”

“What are you talking about?” Eileen asks, tugging at Sam’s arm to get his attention. “The spell worked with me, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that’s… kind of the point,” Sam replied with somewhat of a wince. “Those witches? Back when I was working on the spell? That woman warned me, said that Billie would catch onto what we had done and close the loophole. And yeah, I know Billie’s dead now, but… the new Death - whoever they are - isn’t exactly going to let it slide, either. She made it sound like a one-time thing. And… we used it.”

“Hey, no, it’s a good thing you brought the idea up,” Dean insisted. “If it turned out it could have worked, and we didn’t even bother to try it because you didn’t want to bring it up? That would have been so much worse.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Sam mutters, throwing the papers down onto the table. He brushes his hand across his mouth, letting his eyes slide closed with a deep sigh. “There’s gotta be something else. _Something_ hidden in all these files, otherwise I… I don’t know what to do…”

“We’ll find something,” Eileen said, sensing the need for some sense of optimism. Of _hope._ “We’ve got to _look_ for an answer to _find_ one, right?”

Dean smiled appreciatively up at Eileen. It didn’t feel real. He’s fairly certain Eileen knew it wasn’t real, either.

“Yeah…” He mumbles. He had never craved a drink more in his life. “Sure… let’s find a way…”

He wasn’t sure if Cas’s silence in his head was one of joint hopelessness; or if, perhaps, he didn’t truly believe there was no answer until he heard Dean himself begin to give up.

* * *

Castiel found himself stepping into Dean’s bar once more.

This time… there was something different about it. There was no soft music playing from the jukebox – which was switched off, it’s colorful flashing lights left blank and empty. The soft amber glow of the overhead lights were also switched off - bar from one - leaving the bar in a cold and unwelcoming atmosphere. Only one light was lit, aimed at a sullen-looking Dean Winchester sat upon a bar stool in the corner of the room. There was no beaming smile like there was last time, replaced with an empty expression as he leaned back against the corner wall with… a guitar?

In Dean’s hands was a beautiful spruce acoustic, his fingers expertly switching between the six strings. He plucked them quietly, invoking a gentle and solemn sounding sound from the wooden instrument atop his lap. Though, his gaze was not fixated on his fingers as they danced across the fretboard as was expected. His eyes were pointed down towards the laminated wooden panels of the floor, staring without seeing as he played a song that Castiel faintly recognized, though the name wasn’t coming to him. 

“I didn’t know you could play?” Castiel finds it almost criminal to interrupt the beautiful melody Dean was creating.

“I don’t. Not really,” Dean replies, not even a hesitation in his playing. “At least, I haven’t actually played in a _long_ time. Comes easy in my dreams, though.”

Castiel pulls out one of the stools from the bar, dropping it a few steps away from Dean. He takes a seat on the comfortable cushion, content to watch Dean as he plays. “When did you learn?”

“You, uh… you remember when I told you about Sonny’s? That time when Dad was out on a hunt, and I got caught stealing food?”

“You mean when your father abandoned you at a young age, leaving you to fend for both yourself and your brother to the point you were forced to steal to feed yourselves?”

Dean’s fingers did stumble this time, slamming his hands against the strings to mute the obnoxiously loud and screeching note. Usually, he would be up in arms at this point; would tell whoever that it was all his fault, he should have been better prepared for looking after Sammy, that he should have known what to do if Dad was out on a hunt longer than usual… but looking at Castiel’s furious face, knowing such anger wasn’t aimed _at_ him, rather _on his behalf…_ He decided he was tired of making excuses for John.

“Yeah… yeah, when _that_ happened,” Dean gritted out, letting himself feel the anger he should have felt all those years ago. “Kept telling myself that it was only temporary, y’know? That dad would get back, get Sammy and come get me. But then… God, Cas – I was _shit scared_ of what he’d do when he found out. If he knew that I had messed up, got myself caught and left Sammy all alone…”

“Your father shouldn’t have-,” Cas cut himself off with a frustrated grunt, a few octaves away from being a growl. “You were a _child._ The things he did to you… the responsibilities he forced you to bare… I’m sorry, Dean. I know you have a lot of respect for your father, but that is not a respect I can share.

“Guess we both got too much respect for our dads, huh?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat. “You gotta admit that God was more of a disappointment than my dad though, right?”

“The fact that your father is slightly better than an absentee and destructive _God_ isn’t an achievement, Dean.”

Dean stared at Castiel for a few seconds before nodding. “Alright, you got me there.”

Dean resumed his playing, the gentle tune of the guitar helping to soothe the tension brought on by the mention of John. “There was this girl there… her name was Robin. She came round every now and then to give guitar lessons. I, uh… I was kind of infatuated with her…”

Castiel smiled fondly at that, cocking his head to the side as he waited for Dean to elaborate.

“Shut up…” Dean grumbled, hiding his own smile at the knowing one planted across Cas’s face. “Didn’t care for it much originally, coz it was just a way to hang out with her, you know? But after a while… I dunno, something just clicked. I started to enjoy it.”

“Why didn’t you keep playing?” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed humorlessly, resting his chin on the top of the guitar. “How would I, Cas? You think Dad would have splurged out on a guitar for me? Bring it with us everywhere we go? He’d probably have just scolded me for wasting my time on a ‘useless skill’ when I could be learning something important.”

Castiel had _many_ more words on the subject of John Winchester and his treatment of his kids, but wisely kept them quiet for now. “What about once you settled down in the bunker? You could have then?”

“Eh, I guess so. We’ve always been busy with _everything,_ so… Guess I never really bothered. Plus I’m pretty damn sure my dream guitar playing skills won’t translate well to real-life…”

“Might be a good hobby to pick back up,” Castiel tells him, reaching out to run a hand down the smooth wooden surface of the guitar with the backs of his fingers. “It would be nice to hear you play for me when…”

Dean’s eyes shoot up to Cas as his voice trailed off, the small content smile playing on his face slipping away. He didn’t need to finish the rest of the sentence. It was the issue they had been skirting around ever since they had stepped into his dream.

_For when we get me back._

Dean sighed, lifting his head from the guitar and sliding it off his lap, leaning it carefully against the side of the bar next to him. Castiel’s eyes followed him as he stood from the barstool, brushing off non-existent dust from his jeans in what was more of a gesture of habit than anything. Dean’s arms found themselves tugging at Castiel’s arm to get him to stand, answering Castiel’s inquisitive frown with an easy smile.

Castiel followed Dean’s tugs, letting a smile creep onto his face as Dean’s hand slips down to his own, fingers intertwining with his in a perfect fit. “What are you-,” Is all Castiel could ask before Dean had grabbed hold of his other hand and placed it on his hip, separating their joined hands to place his on Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel followed suit, placing his free hand on top of Dean’s shoulder, his other firmly holding Dean’s waist. Dean took his hands off Cas briefly to snap his fingers, smile widening as an absolute classic (at least, in Dean’s opinion) drifted out from the speakers of the jukebox, the old machine blinking to life with Dean’s influence.

It was downright crazy to Dean how much had changed in such a short amount of time. Not too long ago, he was right here with Cas, doing this exact same thing. It was just as heart-skippingly nerve-wracking as it was the last time, but now… now they were a hair-width away from being chest to chest, swaying together on the spot to the calming music as opposed to the more spacious, somewhat awkward half-step dance as before.

And this time… Dean took in the loving smile that was being directed at him, and he could _say that_ now. That look Castiel had reserved just for him was one of _love,_ and the fact that it’s for _him?_ It’s mindboggling, it’s more than he could ever deserve – and the best part? He can love him back. He can lean down, remove that few inches of space between them, and press his lips to Cas. He can _do that now_ , and if that can’t get a smile out of him, then what will?

“ _Wherever you go…”_ Dean’s voice is raspy, and yet gentle as he sings to Castiel, sung in a hushed tone in the peaceful space between then. _“Whatever you do. I will be right here waiting for you…”_

Dean would be blind to say the soft smile on Cas’s face didn’t have a twinge of sadness to it at his words, his grip on Dean’s hip and shoulder tightening as he sang. He _had_ been planning to be… well, to be _Dean Winchester._ The Dean Winchester that would be all jokey with Castiel in a moment like this, singing a mopey love song in a ‘stereotypical trashed forty-year-old guy at karaoke’ voice to try and get a laugh out of him. Now, as they held each other in the dim lights of the bar… that version of himself had been sedated.

“I really thought we’d found the answer,” Dean says, one of his hands slipping up Cas’s neck, his thumb gently brushing over his pulse point. “That Rowena would be able to do something. But now it all feels like… like it was the last chance… Now I’ve got no more ideas, and I don’t know what to do, Cas. I don’t know how to save you, I-,”

Dean closes his eyes at the burning he felt building, causing a tear to slip out from under his closed eyelid. He shakes his head at the choking sensation in his throat, pulling Cas forward by his neck until their foreheads met. There they both stood, eyes closed as they swayed to their own music, comforted by the warmth of each other held so close.

“I know…” Castiel’s words were meant to be one of assurance, but they were more like sympathy. Building upon the fact that he had long since accepted his fate. Which is perhaps why a few more tears escape Dean’s closed lids, trailing down his cheek, clung to his skin as a painful reminder of why they were there.

“I don’t want to lose you…” Dean’s whisper is broken and harsh, the voice of a man fighting hard to keep the tears out of his voice.

The sound is enough for the dam in Castiel to break, the last of the angel's defenses crumbling down at the raw pain he could hear from the one he loves. “And I don’t want to leave you,” Castiel whispers against his lips, tasting the salt of Dean’s tears as he places a delicate kiss there. “But there’s not much else we can do now than what we’re already doing, and… to hope.”

And so, in the silence of Dean’s bar, Dean holds Castiel tight. He lets his angel hold him just as close, sharing their mutual grief over what could have been, of the time they could have spent together.

They dance.

And they hope. They hope that this dance won't be their last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah yeah, I know, I already included a dancing scene in this fic. But what can I say? I'm a slut for romantic dancing scenes, and we've been so deprived of destiel that the thought of Dean and Cas slow dancing together and being all soft and shit just warms my cold, dead heart.


	10. Secrets In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They very nearly end up running Sam over as they clash in the bend of the hallway, Sam having shot up and raced towards Eileen’s shouts the second he heard them.
> 
> “What’s going on?” Sam demands, frantic eyes darting between Eileen and Dean. 
> 
> “Ask her,” Dean replies, jabbing a thumb behind him towards Eileen. “Your girlfriend started banging on my door at ass o’clock in the morning and took me for a joyride…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm hoping to power through and get a normal sized chapter up next week!" she said. You know - like a liar.   
> Sorry... in my defence, the next part would have made this chapter way too long (and would be awkward to break up into two seperate chapters)  
> I also spent Sunday evening moping about after the Buccaneers destroyed the Packers offensive line... (sorry, I'll shut up about American Football) and pretty much spent the whole rest of the evening reading destiel fics to cheer myself up.
> 
> Chapter Song: 'Trenchcoat Angel' by Tyler Ward

_Across the street, he stared at me,_   
_7 feet, a trench coat angel,_   
_Through a smokey haze, he looked my way,_   
_And said, could I have minute please?_   
_I have something you need_

\- 'Trenchcoat Angel' by Tyler Ward

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

**'Bold Text' -** Dean

****

Eileen had been at it for hours now. Having long since given up combing over research in the library, she had retreated to ~~Sam’s~~ _their_ bedroom, bringing with her a few relevant looking books and documents to read over in comfort. There’s only so long you can spend in those hard wooden chairs before your back starts screaming at you…

Sam was still diligently focused on their research, only giving her a small shake of his head when she had asked him if he wanted to take a break, focused solely on the book in front of him. She _had_ been planning to take a break herself – perhaps even catch a few winks of sleep – but seeing Sam so devoted to finding an answer… she knew she’d just feel like crap if she left him to do _all_ the research himself.

Dean had practically disappeared to his bedroom shortly after the red-haired witch had left. Not that she can blame him. She knew how much both her and Sam liked to tease Dean about his whole thing with Cas and – truth be told – she’s not _one hundred percent sure_ that him and Cas are even a _thing_ yet _;_ it’s not like Dean is the kind of guy to talk openly about his relationships. Still, even without Cas being in a physical form, without the usual shy glances and timid touches she caught between them in private moments… she could still see how much Dean cared for Cas. How much he _means_ to him, how much… well, how much he loves him. Even if Dean doesn’t quite realize it himself -or, as she hopes it to be – knows but doesn’t like talking to them about it.

Finding out that your best friend has a literal death timer hanging over his head, and with what seems like every solution being a dead-end… she’s not surprised Dean had slinked off to be alone for a while.

Well… probably not _alone,_ but within company of the only person he wants to be around right now.

And so now… now they’re left with this impossible-seeming task that they somehow have to do within a time limit of anywhere between a month to only _a few weeks._ And the crazy thing is how _desperate_ she feels to find a way to save Cas, too. It’s crazy, because… well, she hasn’t known Cas for all that long. A few brief encounters with the angel here and there, in the occasional times that he dropped by in the bunker. Yet, despite that brief time… she’s come to care for the angel. Maybe it’s the brother's love for him that rubbed off on her, maybe it’s seeing Sam and Dean work themselves into a grave to find a solution; maybe it’s something as simple as Cas being a good guy, and she likes him. Either way, she’s found herself situated in this odd, dependent, multi-species family, and she’s going to do all she can to keep this family together.

The book in her lap felt like it was getting heavier and heavier, likely branding her skin with it’s raised gold letters as the minutes ticked by with the heavy block of paper sat atop legs. It wasn’t the only thing that was getting heavier; her eyelids had been fighting her resolve to stay awake for a few hours now, finding it harder and harder to fight gravity as her body shouts its protests.

“Alright,” She grunts, closing the book hard enough that it made an audible ‘thud’, tapping her fingers along the hard cloth cover. “Guess I’m doing this…”

Praying was… not too common of a thing for her. Having been raised in the hunter life ever since she can remember, fueled by the reminder of her parent’s and the creature that killed them – and had left her unable to hear - the thought of there being a God out there seemed unbelievable. Ridiculous, even. How could a God leave the Earth in such a state? How could a God let his creation be tainted by such vicious creatures, hunting down his children in the night, a stain on the beautiful world he had created? Of course, now she knows that God got a kick out of that kind of stuff…

Things are different now, though. God is gone. No, not gone – _replaced._ Replaced by the son of Lucifer - no, no that’s not right. She knows Jack is more than that. She knows from Sam’s sad, soft smiles when he talks of him, of the pained sheen in Dean’s eyes at any mention of Jack that he was more than just his genetics. Jack is… Jack is their kid. There was no other way to describe him, really. It didn’t matter that they weren’t of the same blood, or even entirely of the same species. The Winchesters had taken him into their home, had raised him, taught him what it’s like to be human.

Made him a Winchester.

“Hey, um… God. Or is it still Jack? I’m not sure what you prefer…” Eileen begins, unsure whether she should have her hands clasped together in prayer for this to work. She does it anyway, just to be on the safe side. “I, uh…. I never actually got to meet you. I was dead when you were born… then you were dead when I was brought back, then I left when you were brought back… we uh, kind of kept missing each other.”

Eileen couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly at that. Or was it more of a nervous laughter? She couldn’t quite tell… “I know that we don’t _really_ know each other, but… I think it’s safe to say we have shared friends… family, even. I don’t know how much you know of what’s going on – I mean, I know God is supposed to know _all_ but considering Chuck needed my eyes to see what was happening in the bunker, maybe not? It’s… I don’t know how it works, if you’re keeping an eye on us down here or you’re busy doing other stuff, but…”

Eileen sighs, closing her eyes and resting her head against her clasped hands. “Things aren’t looking good, Jack. And I know there’s probably no point to this seeing as Sam, Dean and Cas must have prayed to you a billion times already, but… I thought I’d give it a shot anyway. Cas, uh… Cas isn’t doing too good. He doesn’t have much time left, and… it feels like he could go at any second. I know from all the stories Sam’s told me that you and Cas… you were pretty much a mini him. Both of you always trying to do your best… just wanting to be good. And I know that Cas, he… he always had your back. Even before you were born, even in the times… the times that Dean and Sam were unsure…   
I guess what I’m trying to say is… Cas needs your help. It just feels like after everything, isn’t this something we deserve? Something Cas deserves? After all these years, all they want is some sense of normality. As close as you can get to it in this life, anyway… And I know you were only three or something, but… I think we could both see how much Cas and Dean mean to each other. Losing Cas… yeah, it would hurt big time for me and Sam. Losing a friend for me, losing a _best friend_ for Sam… but if Dean has to lose Cas? _Again_? I just… I don’t want to think about what that’s going to be like. I know he’s trying to stay strong in the face of everything, including dealing with his injury… but I think having Cas here with him has been what’s keeping him going.”

Eileen pulled her head away from her hands, tilting her head up to the burning bright glow of the ceiling light, closing her eyes to shield them from the piercing light. “Listen, I can’t even _begin_ to try and understand what it must be like to be _God._ All that responsibility, all that power you suddenly have to handle… It must be overwhelming. You’re trying your best, I know that. Sam’s said about how you weren’t going to be involved anymore, but… we’re running out of options here Jack, and I… I can’t see how you’d happily sit back and watch Cas die; let him go back to the Empty to suffer for _eternity_. You might be God, but you’re still part human. You still care for Cas, I know it. So _please. Please,_ just… help us. Help _Cas._ Do _something.”_

She peels her eyes open as the second tick by in silence, tilting her head back down and glancing around the empty room. Empty. Not a God-child in sight. She hadn’t truly been expecting for anything to happen, yet it still felt like a punch to the gut. It would be too easy for them, wouldn’t it? A tap of the fingers from Jack and all their problems would just disappear…

Above her, the light on the ceiling flickers. One single flicker, a split second where the bulb dims before returning to its full brightness. Eileen pulls herself out of bed with a tired sigh and a grumble of: “Damn old bunker…” The bulb flickers again, and again, and Eileen reaches up on her tiptoes to tap at the old glass bulb. The flickering stops the second her fingers come into contact with it, and she remains there for a few moments, waiting to see if it would flicker once more.

Satisfied she had solved the problem for the time being, she turns back around to climb back into bed, ready to call it a night. Her gaze drops down to a single piece of paper sat upon the floor, that she must have kicked off the bed as she stood up to fix the bulb. She plucks it up from the ground, recognizing it as the file of the angel experiment, the one that Sam and Dean’s grandfather had a part to play in…

Eileen drops back down into her bed with paper still in hand, eyes scanning curiously over the thick document. There was still something so _strange_ to her about this document. Perhaps it was a bit odd to get so caught up on the thickness level of a piece of paper, but something about it was just… calling to her. Begging for her attention. She leans back against the headboard of the bed, holding the paper in front of her as her gaze drifts across the neatly printed words.

Her gaze freezes in place as she lifts the paper up, blocking the light of the ceiling. As the light shone through the thick paper, she could see… words. Blurred, _tiny_ words… that were _hidden_ behind the words on the front of the page.

“Oh my God…” She mumbles, scrambling up to her feet. She holds the piece of paper closer to the light, shifting the angle of the paper to see more and more blurred words stretching out across the width of the page.

There was something _inside_ the page.

Eileen rushes to her duffle bag, throwing the zip open and searching through its contents until she found the swiss army knife she keeps tucked away. She flicks the small blade open, making a small incision into the side of the thick paper, carefully sawing across the side until it had been fully opened. Sure enough, when she shakes the thick piece of paper over the bed, another piece of paper falls out. This paper was much thinner than the other, only slightly smaller, and filled with writing almost too small to see.

She brings the paper as close to her face as she can without her eyes losing focus, squinting harshly as she tries to make out the tiny text. She scans across the passages as fast as she can, trying to get somewhat of an understanding of what this extra, seemingly hidden addition to the original file could be.

“This is…” She whispers to herself, eyes slowly widening as she realizes what she’s holding.

Within seconds she’s racing out of their room, not feeling the slightest bit guilty for banging against Dean’s door and waking him as she went. “DEAN! SAM! I FOUND SOMETHING!”

* * *

Dean shot awake with a strangled gasp, the last dregs of sleep clinging on tight as he blearily looks around the darkened room. His body is directing him over to his wheelchair before he can fully process it, not entirely sure if the shouts he heard from Eileen were because of something good, or of some sort of trouble within the bunker.

**_‘What the - - you hear what she said, Cas?’_ **

‘ _I’m still rather disorientated from the sudden awakening, but… it almost sounded like she said she found something?’_

Dean grunted in response, Cas's answer aligning with what he _thought_ he’d heard himself.

Eileen was still banging incessantly against his door, the sound _way_ too long considering he had been fast asleep about thirty seconds ago. Dean drops into his wheelchair with a pained grunt, pushing himself towards the door with half-closed eyes.

“What are you-,”

“We need to get Sam,” Eileen cuts him off the second he gets the door open, rushing around behind him and grabbing hold of the wheelchair's handles. Dean startles awake just a little bit more at the sudden push behind him, hanging onto his wheelchair for grip as Eileen races towards the library.

They very nearly end up running Sam over as they clash in the bend of the hallway, Sam having shot up and raced towards Eileen’s shouts the second he heard them.

“What’s going on?” Sam demands, frantic eyes darting between Eileen and Dean.

“Ask her,” Dean replies, jabbing a thumb behind him towards Eileen. “Your girlfriend started banging on my door at ass o’clock in the morning and took me for a joyride…”

“I think I’ve found something,” Eileen pants, gesturing with her head for Sam to follow as she continues towards the library.

“You found something? What, like, something that will help Cas?” Sam asks, jogging behind Eileen as they burst into the library.

“I think so, yeah,” Eileen answers, parking Dean in front of the table before pulling the folded piece of paper out of her back pocket. “You remember that file on the angel experiment? The exorcism one with the explosives?”

“Not gonna forget it…” Dean mumbles under his breath.

“Something about that file just felt _weird_ to me. Just now, I held the paper up the light, and I could see there was something _inside_ the paper! It was like a secret compartment or something!” Eileen waves the paper at them. “I cut it open and _this_ was inside it!”

Eileen shoves the piece of paper into Sam’s hands, who still looked a tad bit disorientated about the sudden change of events. “Go ahead, read it!”

Sam’s head snapped towards his older brother, taking in the smallest glimmer of _hope_ that sat behind his eyes. Sam quickly shuffled over to the table, unfolding the piece of paper and flattening out the creases as much as he could, the two of them leaning over the file as they tried to read the small writing.

_‘I imagine this will get me into heaps of trouble if I was to ever be caught… but to be frank, I do not give much of a damn._

_When Sinclair came to me with his proposition… I couldn’t turn it down. They’ve barely trusted me with much more than maid’s work around the bunker, so to be offered a chance to take part in an official experiment; How could I say no?_

_Of course, I should have started asking questions when Sinclair avoided giving me any details on the nature of the experiment… I thought we were going to be doing a good thing. That we would rid that man of the angelic parasite attached to him._

_Instead… we blew an innocent man into pieces. We took away his chance of life. We took him away from his family, people who loved and would miss him… All in the name of so-called ‘necessary research’. Sinclair didn’t even seem to care. The only reason for his frustration being that the experiment failed, that he was wrong on a subject, not that we had killed someone. Which we did. We killed that man, and the Men of Letters didn’t even blink an eye._

_I tried to move past it. Told myself that these were the kind of things I would have to deal with in this institution. Except… I’ve been unable to get it out of my head. The moment Sinclair pressed that button… the sight of that man reduced to chunks has been haunting my dreams. And the smell… my god, the smell… A mix of burning flesh and raw, bloody meat… makes me heave just thinking of it._

_I did not know who to confide in, if anyone. They would likely tell me to man up and get over myself. I may even risk being kicked out - if that’s even an option… So, I have kept my worries to myself. I harbored all the guilt, all the blame for that man’s death until I could no more._

_I told myself I would find a way to fix this. I would bring that man back, give him back the life he deserved to live. I know it was foolish of me to assign myself this task, that too many things could have gone wrong… And yet, I did it anyway._

_I had to hire the help of a witch to aid me in this endeavor… perhaps the worst part of this whole thing. Dealing with someone who so willingly delves into such arts felt as if I was poisoning myself, but it was a necessity. Her name was Annika Whitmore. Still a young thing, not the old hagged witches you typically see portrayed in the fairytales. She was perfectly respectful I suppose; well mannered and eager to help. And I suppose, and the end of everything… she’s found me something.’_

The words tapered off there, reaching the end of the thin piece of paper. Sam and Dean looked to each other in a mixture of shock and disappointment; shocked that there may be a lead after all, but disappointed that this was seemingly all that had been written.

“It ends there?” Sam asks Eileen, turning his head to the side to face her. “That’s it?”

Eileen responds by rolling her eyes at him, grabbing the page by its side and flipping the piece of paper over to reveal another page of writing.

“Oh…” Sam’s face flushes, awkwardly clearing his throat and giving his brother a disgraced glance out of the corner of his eye before continuing to read the passage.

_‘The spell is, thankfully, fairly simple to perform. A few common ingredients along with some that are… more difficult to come by. Thankfully, I already have possession of such ingredients. Then, it is simply a matter of speaking the correct incantation. Or, so I’ve been told. I suppose I will not know until I perform the ritual. I am fully aware that what I am doing is, unquestionably, the wrong move to make. Logically, and for the safety of myself and my peers, I should not be doing this. However, it is **morally** what’s right, and as such, I will be unable to rest peacefully until I’ve at least attempted the spell. _

_Who knows? Maybe this will work. Or, if the space under this is left empty… it went horribly, horribly wrong…_

_Update: It has been three weeks since I last left an update. In that time, I have collected all the ingredients necessary for the spell, and perfected the incantations and sigils required._

_One such ingredient I was told was required was the angel’s grace. Sneaking that out from under Sinclair’s nose was certainly no easy task. And I imagine finding an excuse as to where it disappeared to will be an even greater challenge…_

_After all my efforts… I was finally able to undertake the ritual to bring this man back to the world of the living._

_I do not have the words for it, really. Other than… it did not go as I had hoped. For a moment… I thought it had. The body was **there.** Laying atop the Enochian sigil, as naked as the day he had been born. But… there was nothing. He was alive, yes. But those eyes… those dead eyes… He was alive, but he wasn’t truly **alive.** Nothing more than a shell, a failed recreation of the man he once was. I do not know why I overlooked such a thing… of course the body would be empty; his soul would still remain to whichever plane of existence it had been reaped to. _

_This, however… this was different. I’ve read the encounters the Men of Letters have had with soulless bodies. They were… well, I wouldn’t say themselves, but there was still a **hint** of the person they once were there, just… with their humanity gone. Their sense of good and evil, of doing what’s best for others, not solely for themselves. _

_What came back? It had no semblance to the man he once was. Nothing but… an empty copy. No emotions, no sense of awareness. When I looked to him, he stared straight past me._

_I have not told my superiors of this experiment. And they have no need to know. For the creature I have created… I decided the best course of action would be to put it out of its misery. To live like that – if you can even call it that – is not a life worth living. There wasn’t even a hint of fear in its eyes when I leveled the revolver to its face. In fact… I would almost say there was a thankfulness there._

_I have left the spell below. My hope is that someday… someone worthy will find it. Someone who can expand upon the work I have done, to find an answer… or, at the very least, find an answer to Sinclair’s previous experiment so that this one never needs to be performed again._

_I do not know what else to write on this other than… I tried, Sir. I tried to bring you back to your family. I hope you are at peace, wherever it is that you are._

_I’m sorry.’_

“This is it…” Dean breathes out in his shock. “This is… it’s what we were looking for, isn’t it? Recreating the vessel so it’s able to sustain life, but not need a soul?”

Dean reaches out to pull the paper closer, timidly pulling it towards him in the fear the eighty-year-old paper would crumble apart under his fingertips.

“I can’t believe it…” Sam says, turning wide, stunned eyes over to Eileen, his face breaking out into an ecstatic grin – one that she happily returns. “Eileen, you – you did it!”

Eileen chuckles warmly when Sam practically envelops her into a bone-crushing hug, disappearing underneath layers of flannel. “I lucked out, is all.”

“Doesn’t matter if it was luck,” Dean tells her once she unpeels herself from Sam. “It was you that found it. Without you… We would never have found this. And if we did… it’d probably be when it’s too late.”

**‘Cas, this is…’**

_‘I know.’_

This ‘I know’ was different from the one last night. Castiel’s voice in his mind was different now. One of cautious hope, rather than acceptance and surrender. There was going to be _so_ many questions on the legitimacy of this spell, and whether it’d actually work, but… right now, it felt like an answer. It felt like safety.

It felt like Cas was saved.

“I think we’ve got more of the main ingredients in the supplies, too,” Sam picks up the piece of paper to double-check, eyes scanning across the actual spell. “Yeah! Most of these we can gather up from – _oh…”_

Dean’s head shot up at his little brothers disheartened sounding ‘oh’, glancing nervously back and forth between Sam and the paper he held. “What do you mean ‘oh?’ What’s wrong?”

“Say’s here that one of the main ingredients to the spell is… the angel's grace. Pretty much a third of what the spell relies on.”

**‘** _Makes sense…’_

**‘It does?’**

_‘Every vessel we possess leaves… I suppose you could call it a mark. An imprint on our grace. That connection between grace and vessel is likely what gives the spell most of its power.’_

Dean conveys this information over to Sam and Eileen, who only appear more worried at the news. Sam sighs, scratching at the stubble growing across his cheeks. “With the experiment Sinclair used… he extracted nearly _all_ of the angel's grace. Grandpa then used _that_ grace for the spell. That was nearly the angel’s _entire_ amount of grace, but with Cas…?”

“He’s already running on fumes…” Dean mumbles in realization. “So, what – it won’t work?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answers honestly. “Grandpa didn’t note how much of the grace he used – or how much was required.”

“Any chance we can track down the witch?” Eileen asks. “Maybe she’d be willing to help?”

Sam hurried back over to his seat, dropping the paper onto the table and pulling his discarded laptop closer before opening its lid. His fingers tap across the keys, eyes darting across the screen once he hits enter. Immediately, his face drops at what he reads, leaning back against his chair and wiping a hand across his mouth. “No good… she was labeled as ‘missing’ back in fifty-seven… by the Government, anyway. But according to the Men of Letters files-,” Sam turned the laptop around, showing Eileen and Dean an old, grainy, black and white photo of a pile of ash. “-She is officially dead. Taken out by their hunters…”

Dean sighed in frustration, placing his elbow on the library table and leaning his forehead against his knuckles. “Of course… guess we’ve gotta do this all on our own…”

“Don’t do that just yet,” Sam warned, slamming the laptop closed and picking the spell back up from the table. “The spell might work still. We just need two other ingredients…”

“ _What…_ ” Dean groaned as his brother trailed off.

“Uh… apparently… we need something of importance to the angel that was possessing the vessel…”

All three glanced at one another, waiting for someone to throw in a suggestion of what that could be.

“…we could use Dean?” Eileen offers, half-joking, half being dead serious. “Unless… does this ‘something’ need to be sacrificed, or…?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case…” Dean mumbles.

_‘Dean… don’t you dare-,’_

“Not a sacrifice,” Sam tells them, lips quirked up in a half-smile at Eileen’s suggestion. “It’s placed within the Enochian sigil, not with the rest of the ingredients. Plus, the spell does say an ‘ _item_ ’ of importance, so… I’m assuming it can’t be alive.”

“Okay… what’s the _other_ thing we need?” Eileen asks.

“This one I’m… not too sure about,” Sam says, crossing his arms as he holds the paper out, re-reading the spell. “We need a vial of blood from a relative of the vessel. I don’t really know who we can-,”

The answer comes to Sam, Dean, and Cas all at the same time, the two brothers locking eyes as the name falls from their lips.

“ _Claire.”_

“Uh… who?” Eileen asks, waiting for the brothers to expand on this apparent revelation.

“Claire!” Sam repeats, like that provided _any_ semblance of an answer. “She, uh, she’s Jimmy Novak’s daughter; Cas’s vessel's daughter… She’s… she’s the only one of his family left alive…”

“Do you know her?” Eileen asks.

“You could say that…”

“She hired some people to kill me once,” Dean adds with a strained smile. “To be fair – I totally deserved it at the time. She totally loves me now, though.”

_‘That might be an exaggeration…’_

**‘Hey – if she’s your kid, she’s my kid too. We’re co-parenting Jack, you can’t take Claire away from me, too.’**

“And… how does she feel about Cas?” Eileen asked gingerly, glancing down to Dean. “Since Cas did take her father’s body and all…”

“It, uh… wasn’t smooth sailing for them two at first,” Dean answers for Cas. “Claire was pretty bitter for a while; Dad taken by an angel, left in the care of the foster system by her mom… yeah, the reunion wasn’t too great.”

“And now?”

“I’d say she’s damn fond of the guy,” Dean says. “Doubt she’d ever admit it, but…”

_‘Huh,’_ Eileen thought, _‘Who does that remind me of…’_

“So, you think she would help?” Eileen asks.

“I don’t see why not,” Sam says with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just a vial of blood, nothing life-threatening or altering. Up to her of course, but… doubt she’d say no.”

“Guess that means we’re making a surprise visit to Sherriff Mills,” Dean says cheerfully, already picturing the mouth-watering homemade meal that would be waiting.

“Doesn’t have to be a surprise visit, you know,” Sam scolds him. “You could _not_ be an asshole and call ahead?

Dean makes a ‘pfft’ sound in response, waving off his brother’s good manners. “Where’s the fun in that? I wanna see the surprise on her face when we show up unannounced at their doorstep – with _me_ in a wheelchair! Gotta get _some_ kind of amusement out of my disability, Sammy.”

“First of all: you’re a jerk.”

“Bitch-,”

“ _Second_ of all-,” Sam continues sternly. “-We’ve still got the second ingredient to figure out, remember? What the hell are we gonna use that’s ‘of importance’ to Cas?”

* * *

_‘_ **Why do you have _no_ possessions, Cas?’ **

Dean wheels himself down the bunker hallways as he asks Cas this, eyes scanning across the golden numbers glued on the wooden doors as he went.

_‘I rarely have use for them. The few I had which I would deem ‘of importance’ were on me at the time of my death. Along with myself… they were destroyed.’_

**‘What’d you have on you?’**

_‘Not much: The clothes on my back, my angel blade tucked within my sleeve. And your mixtape.’_

Dean stopped pushing the wheels of his chair at that. **‘You… you kept that on you?’**

_‘Of course. It served as a reminder that, in those eight years we had known each other, you still cared enough to put your effort into creating something of importance for me. Something that allowed you to share your love of music with me. Despite all I had done… you still cared.’_

**‘And you needed to be _reminded_ of that?’**

_‘…yes?’_

**‘Either I was the crappiest friend in the world, Cas, or you were a blind dumbass.’**

_‘I’m leaning towards it being both.’_

**‘You know what? You’re probably right.’**

_‘I am sorry for that, you know.’_

**‘For what? Being right? Or being a dumbass?’**

Dean grinned at the scowl Cas sent in his head. _‘Neither… I meant that… I’m sorry for losing your mixtape. You spent your time on making that, and now-,’_

**‘Pretty sure it would have ruined the moment if you whipped out my mixtape and threw it at me to save it while you were _dying,_ Cas. Besides, now I get to make you a new one. Perhaps an extended version, top twenty maybe?’**

_‘Why do I get the feeling you’re eventually going to make a ‘top tracks’ cassette tape that has ALL of Led Zeppelin’s songs on it?’_

**‘Well, it’d be accurate, since they’re all the best of the best.’**

_‘Do you think you’ll ever expand your music tastes?’_

**‘Cas, what I’m about to tell you, I’m only telling you because I love you: I still listen to Taylor Swift on occasion. I sneak it in every now and then when I’ve got my headphones on cleaning Baby. Don’t tell Sam.’**

_‘You… you listen to-,’_

Dean blocks off what’s likely to be a multitude of questions from Cas on his little musical secret, coming to a stop in front of Castiel’s room. If it can even be called that… it was a rarity for Castiel to use the room. Which, to be fair, is understandable when Dean considers the fact that Cas is an angel and, as such, does not require sleep. Still… it always hurt to walk past the room when the door was left open, seeing the bed bare and the room empty of any… _Casness (_ was that a word? He’s pretty sure it’s not a word).

And yet, as Dean reached for the handle of the door, his finger stilled. The door had been kept shut for a reason. After… after what happened, he had never intended to open this door again. No matter what, it was _Cas’s_ room, and nothing would ever replace it.

_‘Are you okay, Dean?’_

**‘Yeah… yeah, I just… it’s stupid. Feels weird going in your room. I know you’re not technically dead anymore, but…’**

_‘Would it help if I said I give you my permission?’_

Dean snorted quietly, shaking his head as he readies himself. **‘Not really, but I’m going in anyway.’**

The door swings open into the room, revealing its gray, empty walls and lonesome looking bed up against the wall. Practically every room was a copy of the others in the bunker, not truly _theirs_ until they set up their own little customizations. Which is why he was always kinda bummed that Cas didn’t bother with that stuff. It made him feel like Cas didn’t _want_ the room, that… he didn’t consider the bunker his home.

_‘That’s because it’s not.’_

**‘Huh? Ah, crap – was I directing stuff at you again?’**

_‘Yes, you were. And as I was saying, the bunker isn’t my home.’_

**‘Oh… uh, so what – is Heaven still your home?’**

‘ _No. After all that’s happened… I don’t consider ‘home’ a place. To me… home is wherever you are.’_

**‘You gonna pull out these cheesy lines on me more now we’re a thing?’**

_‘I didn’t know it was considered cheesy. I’m just speaking my mind. Also – we’re a ‘thing?’_

**‘Yeah, I don’t like putting labels on shit. Calling us boyfriends feels weird. Saying we’re ‘partner’s feels just as weird.’**

_‘And you think calling us ‘a thing’ is better?’_

**‘You got any better suggestions?’**

_‘I suppose not. We’re just… ‘us.’_

Dean wheeled himself further into Cas’s room, pushing the door closed behind him as he made his way to the middle of the room. He hadn’t actually been in Cas’s room all that often… mostly it was Cas who would come to visit him in _his_ room. Otherwise, he usually finds Cas in the kitchen, in the library, or in the man cave – by which Dean means he drags Cas in there to liven up his life with whatever movie Dean had picked for that night.

_‘Damn… you really didn’t have much, did you?’_

**‘I don’t have much need for material possessions. I told you this already.’**

Which… was quite the problem. Spells don’t typically contain ingredients that are ‘optional’; this wasn’t some typical recipe found in a middle-aged woman’s pretentious cookbook – this was complicated and often risky magic that’s capable of doing what most deem impossible.

They _needed_ to find something, otherwise…

This spell was worthless.

Dean wheels himself over to the single mahogany closet tucked away in the corner of Cas’s room, huffing to himself in his frustration as he grabs hold of the handles to the doors. “There’s gotta be _something_ in here of yours Cas, I can’t believe there’s _nothing_ of-,’

His words get caught in his throat as he swings the doors open, staring bug-eyed into the interior of the closet. Even Cas seemed to have been shocked into silence in his head.

It was… it was _impossible._

Dean reaches out a shaky hand, half expecting his hand to feel air instead of the sole piece of clothing hanging in the otherwise empty closet. Instead, his fingers brush against the oh too familiar scratchy material of its sleeve, his eyes beginning to burn with unexpected tears as he takes in the beige colors.

It was Cas’s trench coat.

**‘How is this… did you have an extra one of these or something, Cas?’**

_‘No… just this one.’_

**‘So… this isn’t a hallucination? Or some kind of trick?’**

_‘If it is, it’s a VERY good copy. I can feel it’s mine…’_

Dean reached up as far as he could, straining as he tugged the coat’s hanger off the closet’s bar. He slid the hanger out of the coat, tossing it back into the closet, keeping his eyes focused solely on the trench coat in his hands. His fingers scrunch tightly into the trench coat, bringing it up to his chest and leaning his head down into it. The tears burning in his eyes almost spill over when he realizes he can _smell_ Cas ingrained into the trench coat. The same scent he had picked up from Cas’s grace in his dreams: that otherworldly, unrecognizable smell mixed with smells that make him feel at home; a lingering soapy cleanness, fresh air blowing through a pine forest; a flowery, subtle smell that’s kinda sweet, sort of like… like _honey._

This was stupid of him, he knew that. Cas was _alive._ But… having something _physical_ of his angel’s held in his grasp for the first time since he was taken from him… it almost felt like getting to see Cas again – not just listening to his voice inside his head. Something _real_ , something that would always be associated with Cas, back with him.

_‘I can’t wait to see you, too. Not just in reflections, or in your dreams… to be able to truly hold you, to feel you, to kiss you in MY body.’_

**‘You better stick to that promise.’**

_‘I fully intend to.’_

**‘I’m just… I’m a little worried as to how this is ever here… You said it was destroyed?’**

_‘It was.’_

**_‘So… how’s it here?’_ **

_‘I wish I could tell you, Dean.’_

**‘Can you sense anything on it? Some type of monster gunk? Some mojo maybe?’**

_‘No. There’s nothing. I can sense my presence on it, but that’s it.’_

**‘Okay… okay, so, for _some_ reason, someone or _something_ has found a way to recreate your trench-coat and just _place it back_ into the closet of your room, in the bunker – the safest place we know – and left it there for us to find in the most convenient moment?’**

_‘It appears so, yes.’_

**‘Huh. Sweet.’**

Dean pats down the pockets to Cas’s trench coat, unable to feel the hard shape of Cas’s angel blade hidden away in the sleeves or the pockets. **‘Damn, seems whatever brought back your coat didn’t bring back your other stuff either. Sorry, Cas.’**

_‘I consider it a lucky break to even have my coat… At least, I’m assuming it’s a lucky break…’_

**‘Hey, weird stuff happens to us all the time. If you can’t sense anything evil within the coat – which I’m sort of just guessing there isn’t since you’d probably have said something before I buried my face in it – then I don’t see why this should be a _bad_ thing.’**

_‘I suppose that’s true… I still want to know who is responsible for it, though.’_

**‘Trust me, we’re in the same boat on that one, Cas. And we _will_ find out. _After_ we get you back into your body.’**

And just like that, the light at the end of the tunnel began to flicker back into sight.


	11. Always Happy To Bleed For The Winchesters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smug, knowing look that crossed Claire’s face was not one Dean was expecting at his stuttered answer (if it can even be called an answer), the young woman turning to Kaia with a roll of her eyes and a good-natured slap to the arm. “See, what did I tell you? Knew he’d do it eventually…”
> 
> “Uh… do what?” Dean asks. 
> 
> “Oh, not much,” Claire says with a grin much too sly for Dean’s liking. “Me and Kaia just had a bet going on which one of you would confess to the other first. I bet Cas would do it first. Kaia bet you’d do it first, but I said you were way too emotionally constipated to manage something like that.”
> 
> “You just cost me ten bucks…” Kaia mumbled in Dean’s direction.

So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you,  
I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye,  
Wherever we're standing,  
I won't take you for granted,  
'Cause we'll never know when, when we'll run out of time

\- 'Like Im Gonna Lose You' by 'Meghan Trainor (.ft John Legend)

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

**'Bold Text' -** Dean

****

The second time Dean rides as a passenger in the Impala since… the _incident…_ is different from the first time. That car ride home was nothing less than awkward, of stale silences and anxious side glances from his brother.

This time? Dean has a smile on his face. The mood is _light,_ the silence replaced with soft rock blasting from the cassette player, of airy laughs from Eileen whenever he taps her shoulder from the backseat and tries to sign the lyrics to a song he’s taken a particular liking to, and Sam’s grunts of telling him to knock it off and stop distracting him; even when he’s got a smile on his face, too.

To put it simply… the hope is palpable. They’re celebrating like they’ve already got Cas back. Like they’ve already won.

Dean tries his best not to let his nerves at that show.

“You really should have let me call Jody ahead and let her know,” Sam throws at Dean over his shoulder as the sign for ‘Sioux Falls’ flashes by them.

“You telling me you’re not looking forward to seeing the look on their faces when they see me like this? _And_ find out that Cas is chilling up here with me?” Dean retorts.

“But did you _have_ to knock my phone out of my hands?” Sam complains, turning the Impala towards the exit ramp of the highway. “Concrete floors aren’t great for fragile glass screens, you know.”

“Your nerdy ass loves any chance to tinker with toys. _I_ gave you a reason to replace your screen. You’re welcome.”

_‘Considering you two live off of scammed credit cards, you’re very care-free with your expensive electronics.’_

**‘Thanks to Charlie, we don’t have to worry about that kind of stuff anymore. Nothing better than scamming credit card companies, Cas. Bastards do all they can to bleed people dry.’**

_‘If you say so. Perhaps you’d see it differently if you were actually earning a wage.’_

**‘Oh God, I forgot you didn’t properly get to ‘meet’ the us from the other world… _They_ got paid to hunt monsters, and you know what? I’d rather live off credit card fraud and be myself than be… whatever the hell they were… assholes had their own damn plane…’**

_‘Are you saying you wouldn’t want your own plane?’_

**‘Don’t like flying Cas. Prefer to keep my feet on the ground, thank you very much.’**

_‘You don’t like flying?’_

**‘Hell no. Trapped in a stuffy metal tube with hundreds of other people, babies crying throughout the whole damn flight, eating overpriced and stale snacks? Oh, and the fact that I’m not in control of the plane whatsoever? And even if I was - if something were to go wrong? Not much you can do but hope you go quick.’**

_‘Oh. I suppose it’s different for me. I love… um, I loved flying. Plus there’s the fact that we as angels were designed for flying_ whereas you… were not.’

**‘Yeah… and you have a few billion years’ experience over me with flying. Probably as natural to you as walking.’**

_‘Hmm… I suppose that’s where angels and humans are different. Our ability of flight… it’s part of who we are. A major part of what makes up our true form is our wings. The ability to travel the entire globe, even to anywhere within the Universe if we so pleased – in the span of a second? I’ll admit, it was something I took for granted.’_

**‘You still miss your wings, huh? I mean, I know you still have them, but…’**

_‘But they’re broken. It’s okay Dean, you can say it. And, yes, I still miss them. I always will. But it gets easier. You adapt to these things. You learn… there’s more important things.’_

**‘Yeah… that’s… that’s some words to live by, Cas. Kind of wish I could have seen your wings. I mean, I know you did the whole shadow puppet thing when we first met to show off – and don’t deny that wasn’t what you were doing; I got that smug face of yours seared into my brain. Hell, not even just your wings. I wish I could have been one of those ‘special people’ who get to see your true form.’**

_‘You… you do?’_

**‘Course I do, Cas. Sure, I think of you and I see Jimmy’s face, and… well, Jimmy’s face and his body _are_ you now, in a way, but… I don’t know, _you’ve_ seen both my physical form and my soul, and then… I’ve never been able to see the real face of the angel I’ve fallen for.’**

_‘I don’t think you’d truly want to see me… an angel's true form is… ‘unsettling’, to say the least.’_

**‘Cas, I don’t care if you’re really ‘the size of the Chrysler building’ and have multiple animal heads like Zacharia did. You’re _Cas._ You could be in Jimmy’s body, in some random dude's body, your true form, whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. So long as I know it’s _you_ in there? I’ll love whatever is staring back at me.’**

_‘…what if I was possessing Sam?’_

**_‘_ Not only did you ruin the moment, but you made it _super_ weird. I’m kinda impressed.’**

“What are you two gossiping about now?” Sam’s amused voice brought Dean back into the present, realizing with a startle that they were already pulling into Jody’s driveway.

“Eh, nothing much. Cas just wanted to know If I’d still bone him while he was possessing you.”

“ _What?!”_ Sam spluttered, slamming on the brakes a little harder than he intended.

_‘That’s not what I meant!’_

“That’s messed up, Cas!” Sam turned wide-eyed to face Dean, his startled and disgusted look boring straight through to Cas. “I hope you told him no, Dean!”

_‘Technically, you haven’t said no-.’_

**‘ _NO,_ Cas! I would still love you, but that is a line I am not willing to cross.’**

“What the hell is happening?” Eileen had her arms braced against Baby’s dash, not at all expecting the rather sudden stop.

“You don’t want to know,” Sam signed towards Eileen, giving Dean one last offended look before switching off the Impala’s engine.

Sam and Eileen had only just transferred Dean from the Impala into his wheelchair when the front door to the Mill’s home swung open, an already welcoming smile plastered on Jody’s face as she took in the sight of Sam and Eileen.

“I thought I heard the Impala’s obnoxiously loud engine,” Jody joked, leaving the front door open a crack as she steps out into the driveway. “Where’s-,”

Jody’s face dropped as Sam shifted to the side, catching sight of an oddly cheerful-looking Dean Winchester sat within a wheelchair. She hadn’t meant for her mouth to drop open the way that it did, or for her mind to fully expect for Dean to jump straight out of the wheelchair and all three of them to burst into laughter at her reaction in what would be some sick prank. But he doesn’t. Instead, he wheels closer to her, the cheerful smile on his face wavering as the seconds tick by.

“Okay Sammy, maybe you were right… Probably should have warned her…”

“What is…” Is all Jody can get out at first, clearing her throat and shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the situation. “What happened?”

“Now _that_ is one hell of a story…” Dean says with a half-hearted laugh. “And it ties into the reason we’re here.”

“I did want to tell you first, but Dean decided he wanted to be an asshole about it,” Sam offers, giving Jody an awkward wave. “Oh, and… this is Eileen.’

“Hello…” Eileen greeted the sheriff with a wave that was somehow even _more_ awkward than Sam’s.

“Right… well, um… you should probably come in…” Jody says, glancing back to the front door. “I’m guessing you’re not just here to catch up?”

“Afraid not. We, uh… we actually need to speak to Claire, too.” Sam said.

Jody frowned at that, crossing her arms across her chest as she stared them down. Typically, when the Winchesters needed to speak to you, it was either because _you_ were in trouble, or they were about to _get_ you into trouble. “…What for?”

“It’s probably best Claire joins us first. Just so we can get the whole story out in one go.” Sam tells her.

“You’re telling me that the reason Dean is… you know… ties into you needing Claire?”

“Sounds weird, but yeah,” Dean says.

Jody can only sigh at that, uncrossing her arms and waving at them to follow as she turns back towards the Mill’s family home.

“You boys do like to test me…”

* * *

Dean had never felt so out of place. Sam and Eileen were sat comfortably on the couch in the living room whilst he was sort of just… off to the side in his wheelchair. Yeah, he could have sat on the couch if he wanted to, but a) he’d rather not be squashed up against Sam and Eileen, and b) …he’s too lazy to move back and forth from the wheelchair.

Plus, even though he feels bad for how distraught Jody looked at the sight of him, he still kinda wanted to see Claire’s reaction.

Sam’s right, he _is_ an asshole…

Speak of the devil, those bounding ‘taking two steps at a time’ footsteps stomping down the stairs could only be those of teenage angst, two other pairs of footfalls following just behind, though much calmer than the ones of the blonde-haired girl that appears in the doorframe leading to the living room.

“Sup dorks-,”

It seemed that Claire is taking after Jody more and more every time that Dean sees her, considering the fact that her expression is pretty much identical to Jody’s, her eyes drawn to Dean sticking out like a sore thumb in the room.

“I know,” Dean says as seriously as he can. “I just get more handsome the older I get, don’t I?”

Claire was so frozen in place that Kaia, who had been following just behind, nearly ran into the back of her. Kaia’s eyes widened upon seeing them, partly hidden by Claire with a hand hanging onto Claire’s sleeve as what could ever be a comforting gesture for Claire, or an attempt to ground herself.

“Oh my God…”

“Nope, we took care of him,” Dean joked.

“ _Jack_ took care of him,” Sam corrected him. “ _We_ got our asses handed to us.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on then,” Jody’s voice booms from the bottom of the staircases, striding into the living room and brushing past Claire and Kaia as she went. “Apparently, we’ve got a story to hear.”

Claire finally snapped herself out of her frozen trance, taking a few timid steps into the living room with Kaia following close behind as usual. “How bad is it?” She asked Dean, unable to tear her eyes from his limp legs.

“I can’t walk so, you know, not great. Still got my arms and the use of little Dean though, so-,”

“Let’s not get too detailed,” Jody cuts him off, holding out a hand to stop him with a grimace. “Did you… did you break your back?”

“More like shattered. But, uh… probably best we go from the beginning, like Sam said.”

“Wait…” Claire stopped Dean before he could start, her eyes darting between all three of them. “Where’s Castiel? And no offense, but uh… who’s this chick?”

“Claire!” Jody scolded her surrogate daughter. “It's not a crime to remember manners every once in a while, you know.”

“I’m Eileen,” Eileen answered, the off-rhythm tone of her voice getting Claire to raise her eyebrows in recognition.

“Oh! Are you, um… hard of hearing?”

“Lost all my hearing as a baby to a banshee,” Eileen answers. “I can read lips, though.”

“A banshee? Does that mean you’re a hunter, too?” Kaia piped up, starting to shift away from her hiding space behind Claire.

“Born and raised, pretty much,” Eileen answers.

“We met Eileen a few years go on a banshee hunt – the same banshee, actually,” Sam adds. “She, uh…”

“I was killed by a Hellhound set on me by the British Men of Letters,” Eileen finishes the sentence Sam struggled to say.

“Oh…” Claire is just about able to get out, staring bug-eyed at the female hunter in front of her. “And now you’re…?”

“Don’t worry, she’s alive. And human,” Dean reassured them. “Sam went all witch-mode and brought her back.”

“You… Sam, you did _what?”_ Jody spluttered in her mom voice.

The power of ‘the mom voice’ had Sam instinctively cowering in submission. “The spell was mostly completed already…”

“Okay…” Claire butt in before Jody could scold Sam for dabbling in witchcraft. “So… where’s Jack and Cas? Could they not make it…?”

“Technically… they’re both here, in a way,” Dean says with a grin.

Sam sends yet another classic bitch face his way. “ _Dean-,”_

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop being cryptic,” Dean mutters in defeat. “So… you remember when Jack got sick? After he died… Cas found him in Heaven. Along with the Empty… Cas decided to be a dumbass and make a deal without telling us. Jack came back and… Cas’s life was exchanged for it.”

The grief-stricken look that passed across Claire’s face had Dean scrambling to continue. “He’s not dead! Not right now, anyway. He, uh… he sacrificed himself for me. Death was coming for us – and I’m talking the literal Death here – and Cas used his deal with the Empty against her.”

“Wait, I’m confused-,” Jody interrupted Dean’s story. “What exactly was the deal Castiel made?”

“He took Jack’s place in the Empty. Except, the Empty decided it wanted to be a dick about it. It would only take Cas once he ‘experienced a moment of true happiness’, so…”

“So… Cas forced himself to experience a moment of true happiness to… save you?” Claire asked. “How does that work?”

“The Empty… kinda had a grudge against Death. When Cas summoned the Empty to us, the Empty took Death along with Cas.”

“Oh… and, um… the moment of true happiness? What was that?”

Dean’s words froze in his throat, reluctant to leave his lips. There was something about the fact that he was saying it to _Claire…_ the daughter of the guy his angel wears… he could only hope she didn’t find it _too_ weird…

“Well… uh… he…”

The smug, knowing look that crossed Claire’s face was not one Dean was expecting at his stuttered answer (if it can even be called an answer), the young woman turning to Kaia with a roll of her eyes and a good-natured slap to the arm. “See, what did I tell you? Knew he’d do it eventually…”

“Uh… do what?” Dean asks.

“Oh, not much,” Claire says with a grin much too sly for Dean’s liking. “Me and Kaia just had a bet going on which one of you would confess to the other first. I bet Cas would do it first. Kaia bet you’d do it first, but I said you were _way_ too emotionally constipated to manage something like that.”

“You just cost me ten bucks…” Kaia mumbled in Dean’s direction.

“ _Excuse me-,”_

“The only way I could see you making the first move would be to kiss Cas at some random ass time, panic that you did it, and then run away,” Claire told him, counting the events on her fingers.

“I…” _Damn, she was probably right…_ “Uh… you knew?”

Claire scoffed at that, feeling comfortable enough to walk further into the room and drop down into the armchair opposite, leaning back against the cushioned pillow with her arms crossed. “ _Please._ I don’t have many memories of my dad, but I remember the way he would look at my mom. Cas has the same damn look when he looks at you.”

_‘Well… it IS his face…’_

**‘Yeah, and that probably freaks her out a little so… maybe not mention that?’**

“Hey, me and Eileen had a bet going too!” Sam says jovially, the amused smile on his face slipping away as he caught sight of Dean’s fiery glare. “Sorry…”

“Alright, alright, everyone knew me and Cas had a thing for each other before either of us did. We got it…” Dean grumbles, copying the moody teenager opposite by crossing his arms, glaring at the concealed smiles of the others in the room.

Claire perks up as she picks out something Dean had just said. “Uh… did you just say _we?”_

**‘Time to shine, Cas…’**

Jody, Claire, and Kaia startle at the piercing blue light that overtakes Dean’s eyes, unsettled by the unnaturally blank and tense posture that comes over Dean. Three pairs of frantic eyes shift over to Sam and Eileen, only relaxing marginally when they see the two aren’t phased by what was happening.

The blue slowly fades away as Dean slumps back into his chair, shaking his head and blinking sluggishly as the disorientation of possession switching clings to him. He raises his eyes up, settling on Claire with a light smile that was oddly familiar to the teenager, yet looked so foreign on Dean…

“Hello, Claire.”

She didn’t know how, but she knew straight away. Perhaps it was the strained, constipated sounding way he spoke, or his voice dropping deeper (which she thought was impossible already), or the way Dean’s eyes had lost that playful and joking edge they usually held with her, replaced with a much softer and more… more _fatherlike_ look.

“Castiel? Is that… is that you?”

“It is for now, yes,” Castiel answers. “Dean and I… we are currently sharing possession of his body. To repeat Dean’s earlier words, Dean decided to ‘be a dumbass’-,”

**‘How dare you-,’**

“-during a hunt and got himself injured.”

“Like… ‘shattering your spine’ injured?”

“More than that,” Sam says darkly, gritting his teeth against the harsh memory of that night. “It was a pack of Vamps that had been around for a while. And when I say a while, I mean our _Dad_ once tried hunting them. One of them managed to get ahold of Dean and it… it shoved Dean into a rebar.”

“The rebar pierced through his back and into his chest,” Cas embellished, the others grimacing at the image. “It punctured his heart, along with a lung. And, as you can imagine, it did some devastating damage to his spine. Fortunately… Dean made the decision to pray to me. Dean saved me from the Empty, and in return, I saved his life. But… my grace is running low. I used a majority of it healing Dean’s wounds, but it wasn’t enough-,”

“I thought your grace recharged itself?” Claire asks.

“It does, usually. I’m not entirely sure the reason for it, though I believe it may be connected to Heaven’s weakened power… Either way, it’s still not replenishing itself. In fact… it’s doing the opposite.”

“You’re running out of your grace?” Claire leans forward as she says this, her brow pinched in worry. “What does that mean for you? Will you…”

“I could die. Or I may live in Dean’s body, forcing him out and killing him.”

“Oh… And, um… what happened to… to my dad’s body?”

Castiel frowned at the way Claire’s voice seemed to shrink on itself as she asks him this, for a moment seeing the frightened little girl that stood in the doorframe, asking for her daddy as an alien being takes him away from her forever.

“That’s the reason we’re here, Claire,” Castiel tells her. “I know I’ve taken so much from you already. And now… I have to ask more of you again.”

Claire shuffled uncomfortably under Castiel’s intense and sorrowful gaze. Kaia is by her side within seconds, hovering near the armchair as she senses Claire’s clear discomfort. “Is this going to be dangerous?” Kaia asks on Claire’s behalf.

“No, it shouldn’t be,” Cas answered, unable to see Sam looking uneasily at him in a quick side-glance. “I am asking you… for your permission; your permission to use your father’s body once more as my own. We believe it might be the only way to keep me alive, as transferring me to another vessel may just use up the last of my grace, but seeing as I already had your father’s permission…”

“Right…” Claire mutters, clearing her throat and dragging her line of sight back up to face Dea- no, _Castiel._ “I’m not going to lie to you Castiel, it’ll always be kind of weird for me. But… I know Dad’s up there with mom, and that they’re happy, and… asides from my _actual_ dad, you’re the closest thing I have to one, so… If this means I don’t have to lose you too, then yeah. You have my permission.”

Claire stubbornly fights back the burning tears in her eyes at the watery smile Castiel gives her, always taken aback to see the once stoic and hard-ass angel showing such raw emotion.

“Thank you, Claire. There’s… one more thing I need to ask of you.”

“Actually-,” Sam interrupts, much to Cas’ surprise. “There might be two things…”

Both Eileen and Cas frown up at him, racking their brains to try and remember the extra ingredient that they apparently needed from Claire.

“We found a spell that might be able to re-create your dad’s body without needing his soul,” Sam begins to explain to Claire, ignoring Eileen and Cas’s inquisitive stares. “One of the ingredients requires a vial of blood from a relative of the vessel. And… you’re the only surviving relative that we know of.”

“That… seems easy…” Claire says, suspicious at how simple this was all sounding.

“ _That_ one should be no problem, but uh…” Sam sighs, switching his gaze over to Castiel. “Listen Cas, I didn’t want to bring this up back at the bunker because I kind of had a feeling you’d shoot it down before I could even ask Claire.”

“…Sam…. What are you talking about?” Castiel asked, already dreading the answer.

Sam sighs deeply once again, tearing his gaze away from Cas and back to Claire. “Thing is, we need to use Cas’ grace for the spell. Problem with that is that there’s not much for us to use, and… we don’t really know what could happen if we don’t use enough. The last time this spell was used, the spell caster used pretty much all of the angel’s grace. I’m guessing we need all the grace we can get, and um… I was thinking about it, and… you see, the thing about possession is that the angel typically leaves a piece of their grace behind inside the previous vessel. And, if I remember right… Cas once possessed you.”

“ _No,”_ Castiel said sternly, the harshness in his tone making everyone in the room startle at the reminder of the powerful angel in their presence. Castiel knew what Sam was getting at. He knew what this was leading to.

“It’s worth a shot, Cas,” Sam argued, not backing down from Castiel’s ticked off glare. He holds Castiel’s gaze for a few moments before breaking it, turning back to Claire as he continues. “There was a time when I was possessed myself by an angel. We were able to use a, uh… kind of like a big needle to extract the grace from me-,”

“And it nearly killed you!” Castiel spat out. “We might not even need that much of my grace for the spell. Sam, it is _not_ worth the risk-,”

“We don’t know that. And we won’t go all the way, Cas,” Sam assured him before turning desperate eyes back to Claire. “We _won’t,_ Claire. I promise we won't. We managed to extract some grace from me without killing me. It won't extract _all_ of Cas’s grace, but… that extra bit of grace from you could be the difference between this experiment failing, or saving Cas’s life. It’s all up to you, okay? If you don’t want to do this, we won’t force you into it.”

Nearly everyone in the room looked uneasy at Sam’s plan. Hell, even Sam didn’t look like he liked his own suggestion, but mostly… it was a look of desperation, of understanding, patiently waiting when you’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the answer. Claire got to take this all in, along with Dean’s – or Cas’s, she supposed – conflicted grimace, unable to meet her eyes.

“What about this makes it dangerous?” Jody’s voice broke the tension. “You mentioned a needle?”

Sam nodded his head, reaching down to the duffel bag by his feet and unzipping it. All eyes in the room focused on him as he rummaged through the bag, their faces paling at the imposing metal syringe Sam held in his hands.

“The Grace has to be extracted from the neck…” Sam tells them, his own face twisting into a grimace at the reminder of his own experience. “ _That’s_ what made it dangerous. To get all the grace… you need to push the needle in further and further. But we’re not going to do that, okay?”

Sam placed the syringe to the side, picking up on how Claire was unable to tear her gaze away from the menacing instrument. “Cas can monitor you the whole time, right Cas? We’ll keep to a safe level, extracting what we can.”

Claire nodded her head, just barely noticeable, her eyes drifting across the room as she sits, lost in thought. “And… doing this… it’ll help you?” Claire directed the question at Castiel, her eyes briefly flickering up to meet Dean’s.

“I… I suppose so, yes,” Castiel begrudgingly admitted. “Every piece of my grace would help, but Claire-,”

“Then I’ll do it.”

Castiel’s mouth swung shut at her answer, taken aback by the assured confidence in her voice.

Kaia looked to Claire, torn between wanting to say what was on her mind, but also wanting to respect her decision. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Claire insisted with a soft smile at the girl behind her. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Cas is looking out for me.”

**‘Huh… you know, you and Claire have the same smile. I mean, I know it’s Jimmy’s smile, but… you smile at me like that, too.’**

“I can’t say I’m feeling all that jazzed about this decision,” Jody says. “But… I also know it’s not mine to make. Just… be careful. _Please_.”

“I’ll intervene before even the slightest bit of harm could be inflicted,” Castiel assured Jody in that sincere grovel of his that the Winchesters know mean he’s ready to sacrifice himself if it comes to it. “I give you my word.”

“Okay, let’s just…” Claire tried not to shudder at the thought of what that needle would feel like in her neck… “Let’s get this over with…”  
  


* * *

Claire was able to hold back a wince as the marginally smaller needle slid out from the crook of her elbow, barely even able to get a glimpse of the puncture wound it left behind before Jody was swabbing at it with the gauze from the first aid kit.

She _did_ get a glimpse of the small glass vial filled with a dark crimson liquid that was once running through her veins, now held in Sam’s hands. He carefully screwed the lid back on the top, avoiding spilling any of what was – technically – a precious ingredient to them now.

“Never liked getting blood tests taken…” Claire mumbled, rolling her eyes at the brightly colored care-bears band-aid that Kaia stuck over her arm.

“Better than having to slice your palm open a few thousand times for spells,” Sam said, handing the vial over to Eileen for safe storage. “Makes handling weapons a pain for a few weeks…”

“Maybe you guys should just keep bags of your blood around or something for that,” Claire joked from the couch. “With how often you guys get injured, it would probably be useful.”

**‘Doubt a bag of blood would have fixed my heart, but it’s the thought that counts.’**

The joking smile on Claire’s face disappeared the second the ridiculously big syringe was back in Sam’s hands, the sight of that long and sharp needle sending chills up her spine.

A small smile of sympathy hitched at Sam’s lips at the clear apprehension on Claire’s face. He takes the few steps over to the couch where Claire was sat, followed closely behind by Cas as he wheels himself next to Claire.

“You might want to lie down for this,” Castiel tells her. “The procedure is… unpleasant.”

Claire swallowed nervously at his warning, shifting around on the couch until her head was resting against the mountain of pillows that Jody had quickly built for her, placing trembling hands across her stomach as she waits for something that’s going to be – well, ‘unpleasant.’

Her eyelids flutter shut at the comforting touch of Castiel’s hand on her forehead, able to feel the gentle hum of Castiel’s grace just beyond the skin of his hand. It was weird to think that it was searching through her body, taking account of her pulse, her rate of breathing, the smallest sign that _something_ was amiss.

“Are you ready?” Sam’s voice filters through her thoughts. Keeping her eyes firmly shut, she nods her head. She didn’t want to see the needle again. She especially didn’t want to see it going _in_ her neck…

‘Unpleasant’ was not the right word, she very quickly decided. In fact, ‘unpleasant’ was pretty damn far from the word she would use to describe the burning pain that takes over every other sensation in her body. ‘Unpleasant’ was a word used for heartburn, or when you scrape your knee falling off your bike as a kid.

She finds her hands digging into the couch underneath her, gripping onto the soft material in a vice-like grip. She has no doubt that Jody isn’t going to appreciate the gouge marks she makes in the expensive leather with her nails, but that’s a problem for future Claire. Right now, present Claire has to focus on remembering how to breathe, on keeping the scream that wants to burst out from her lungs settled in place, on easing pressure in her jaw as she clenches her teeth in case she ends up biting her tongue.

The needle slides in further and, somehow, the pain gets worse. She didn’t think it could, but oh boy, was she wrong. It’s a damn miracle she’s able to bite back the scream, but even her tightly clenched eyelids were unable to stop the few tears that squeezed their way out. There’s a hand brushing through her hair – likely Jody’s – and another hand gripping onto hers almost as tightly as the other is burrowing into the couch – one she knows for sure is Kaia’s. She almost can’t feel them, but… they’re distractions. They take away from the pain in just the slightest, but quite frankly, she’ll take as much as she can get.

“That’s enough.”

Dean’s voice had never been so relieving to hear, even if it was in that freaky deep voice that sounded like Dean trying – and failing- to mimic Castiel’s. You wouldn’t think the feeling of a needle slipping out of your throat would feel good, but _anything_ was better than the agonizing pain she had just been going through.

“There. It’s over.” Sam’s relieved voice finally gets her to pry her eyes open. The sight of the wispy, cloud-like blue gas shifting around within the syringe is almost mesmerizing to see. That grace was _inside_ her – _still inside her,_ in fact – and she had no idea. She can never feel it, it’s just… there.

Seeing five heads peering down at her was rather jarring, even if she knew they were doing it out of worry for her. “Jeez, could you guys back up a bit? I promise I’m not dying…”

“Technically, she’s telling the truth,” Castiel said, his hand slipping away from her head. “I can’t sense any permanent damage done. You might feel somewhat weak for a few hours, possibly a day, but you should recover fairly quickly.”

“How are you feeling?” Jody asks, the worry in her eyes remaining despite Castiel’s diagnosis. She offers a hand to Claire, who gladly takes it, allowing herself to be pulled up into a sitting position.

“About as well as you can after having a needle in your neck…”

**‘I think she takes after me more than you, Cas.’**

_‘You passing on your sarcastic deflections is not something to be proud of, Dean…’_

**_‘Hell yeah it is. Being honest is for losers.’_ **

_‘Huh…. For so long, I worried that Jack was going to take after Lucifer… I should have been more worried he’d take after you.’_

**‘Damn. Don’t get me wrong, that was a great burn, but also… screw you.’**

_‘Actually, I was waiting for you to do that.’_

**‘Ha, that’s… Wait, _wha-_ ,’**

“This spell of yours better work after all that…” Claire tells Sam, getting one last look at the vial of Castiel’s grace before it joins the other vial of her blood that’s tucked away inside Sam’s duffel.

“Thanks to you, it just might,” Sam responds with a grateful smile.

A flash of blue pulls Claire’s gaze away from Sam, glancing over to see the last second of Castiel before being greeted by eyes she knows belongs to Dean Winchester. She can only grunt in surprise when Dean’s arms are wrapping around her back, yanking her towards in a rather clumsy and awkward hug.

“That’s from both of us,” Dean says quietly in her ear, his arms tightening around her side.

Claire chuckled at the unusual softness Dean was displaying, along with the fact that Dean was very nearly dragging her off the couch with his hug. “You went back into the bad place to get Kaia back, so… only fair I did what I could to get Cas back to you.”

Another laugh bubbled out as she felt the heartfelt hug turn into more of a tense hold, patting Dean’s arm in sympathy at what she knew was going to be an awkward question from Dean once he pulled away from the hug.

“Uh, actually, about that… Me and Cas were kinda wondering…”

“Just try and reduce the number of times you two suck faces around me once you get Cas back,” Claire tells him, much to Dean’s – and Cas’s – horror. “It’s gonna take me a while to not see it as you kissing my dad…”

“I’m not too sure what I just walked into, but it sounds like a juicy topic.”

The new voice in the room gets everyone to jump, those with weapons tucked away pulling them out in a smooth practiced motion, training them on the unexpected newcomer. Sam’s eyes widen over his pistol’s iron sight, lowering the gun instinctively once his brain registers that the woman smirking over at them was someone he knew.

“Rowena?” Sam splutters in surprise, gesturing for Jody to lower her own gun – which she did somewhat reluctantly. “How did you-,”

“Just a heads up deary, your devil's trap has been damaged. Think you might have some little micey’s nibbling away at your floorboard.” Rowena tells Jody with a sweet smile and an equally sweet-sounding voice.

“Who the hell are you?” Jody asks, pistol still held firmly in hand.

“Rowena. As Samuel over there just stated.”

Jody’s eyes narrow at the stranger in her living room. Sam’s judgment was the only reason she had her gun pointed to the floor, and not at this fiery woman. “Okay, I’ll be more specific; _what_ are you?”

“Centuries-old witch. Freshly created damned soul. Demon. The Queen of Hell.” Rowena’s impressively fake friendly smile only widens at the discomfort that washes over Jody with every new title she provides. “Take your pick.”

“Sam...” Jody takes a step back from Rowena, instinctively moving closer to where Claire and Kaia were – nearly bumping into Castiel in the process.

“What are you doing here, Rowena?” Sam asks her, sensing the need to defuse the situation before Jody starts shooting.

“What I said I would do,” Rowena answers, sauntering over the armchair Claire was occupying not long ago and dropping into it like it was her own home. “Imagine my surprise when my demons pick up on an angel's grace on Earth that’s not occupying a vessel. I sent some of my men to investigate and… what do you know, they report back to me that the Winchester’s are involved. I could only assume this is a part of your little plan to save the angel?”

“I have a name,” Castiel grumbles from his spot by the couch, mostly blocking Claire and Kaia from view.

“Oh! I suppose that means Dean’s been placed in the timeout corner for the time being?”

**‘…the timeout corner…?’**

“If you’re asking me if Dean is currently the one not in possession, then yes.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, you guys are friends with a _witch?”_ Claire leans away from Castiel to try and get a better look at the witch that was currently sitting in her favorite chair.

“Ah, well, you know the saying,” Rowena mused out loud, leaning back against the comfortable pillows of the armchair. “Keep your friends close…”

“Yeah… and I’m guessing you’re a powerful enemy to have?” Claire asks.

“Good instincts, that one,” Rowena notes to Jody.

“You still haven’t explained why you’re here,” Eileen interrupts, bringing Rowena’s attention over to her. “You were able to sense Castiel’s grace and… then what?”

“As I said, I can only assume this is a part of your plan to bring back Castiel here. I did say I’d help, didn’t I?”

“ _You_? Are willing to help them?” Jody asks incredulously.

“Aye. It’s only fair I help them after they got me killed.”

“Um… you say that like you wanted to be killed?” Kaia asks.

“Oh no, not in the moment, heaven’s no. But it turned out that dying was the _best_ thing that ever happened to me. No mother should outlive her child, but… it’s only right that I should take over my son’s throne, isn’t it?”

“Your son? Your son was the former king of-,” Jody stops as her brain makes the connection, looking between Rowena and Sam in disbelief. “ _Crowley_? _Crowley_ was your son?”

“You’re acquainted, I presume?”

Jody huffs out a laugh at that. “If you call trying to kill me on the first date ‘acquainted’, then yeah.”

“Ah, that sounds like my son… Both the ‘killing’ part and the ‘trying’… poor boy had so many ambitions, just always failed to reach them…”

“Are you saying your son ‘trying to kill me’ is an ambition-?!”

“Alright, alright, let's -,” Sam quickly jumped between the two ladies to defuse the tension, sensing an argument that could only end poorly. “Yes, we found something. One of the Men of Letter’s – our grandfather, actually – managed to create a spell with the help of a witch back then, uh… Anikka Whitmore?”

“Ah, Anikka…” Rowena drawls out the witch’s name, shaking her head in what Sam could only assume was fake pity. “Shame what happened to the poor girl… She just _needed_ to help people… had a soft spot, you see… Every witch worth her money knows that helping the needy just attracts unwanted attention. She found that out far too late, I’m afraid…”

“Yeah, we… we found the pictures…” Sam says with a wince. “Actually, I have the spell on me right now…”

Sam hurriedly searched through his jacket pockets, pulling out the little folded square of delicate paper and rushing over to Rowena to hand it over. Rowena took the paper with careful hands, long nails unfolding the old paper before taking in the written spell.

“Hmm… Ah, that makes sense… perhaps a bit risky using angel's grace, but… the human blood should help to temper the grace’s volatile power…”

“Does it… does it seem like it will work?” Eileen asks, unable to stop herself from worrying over the fragile paper crumbling away in the witch’s hands.

“I don’t see why not, considering it says here that the experiment was ‘technically’ a success… just not in the way this poor lad was expecting…” Rowena tells them, handing the spell back over to Sam – much to Eileen’s relief. “Except…”

**‘Ah, dammit. Of course there’s an ‘except’. Another ‘but’, or ‘however’. Always _something…_** _’_

“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, boys. But I have to say it. The amount of grace is… it’s a problem. The grace is essentially the power of this spell. It’s… it’s almost like the glue that puts the body back together. Creates new atoms, replicating DNA from the blood, then binds it all together. And since you said Castiel doesn’t have much of his grace left…”

Rowena’s sentence drifts off at the sight of Dean’s eyes flaring blue, watching as Castiel fades away behind green eyes. Those blank, unoccupied eyes quickly shift to ones of worry, of impending doom as Dean Winchester once again takes control of his body. “It’s not going to work…?”

“I’m not saying that,” Rowena said gently, keeping her gaze focused on Dean alone despite the four other pairs of eyes staring at her. “It’s hard to know for sure when I have never performed the spell myself – as well as it only being done once. There’s every chance this could work with the grace you have, but…”

“Don’t sugar coat it for me,” Dean insisted, his voice coming out weaker than he intended. “We need to know the risks.”

“If it’s not enough… the spell will break apart mid-way through. The body will begin to disintegrate back to nothing as the grace burns away, and once it's empty? That will be it. Castiel will be gone.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Dean asks. Though, ‘pleads’ would probably be a more apt word… “Something that can boost the spell?”

“There’s nothing _I_ can do _myself_ , no. The spell is simple enough, able to be cast by whoever. I’m afraid it won’t matter _who_ casts it, as the power of the spell all comes down to one ingredient: the grace.”

“What about using another angel's grace, or-?”

Rowena stops Dean's blabbers with a shake of her head. “It has to be the grace of the angel that possessed the vessel. Unless another angel possessed the vessel?”

“Uh… that would be Lucifer…” Sam mumbled uncomfortably.

“Ah. Probably best not to go down that route…”

“So… how likely is it that… that this isn’t going to work?” Dean asks Rowena. “What’s the chance that…”

‘ **That I’m going to lose him,’** Dean thinks the words his mouth can’t voice.

“There's a chance,” Rowena's answer doesn’t make him feel any better. “But you want my honest opinion? Make sure you say all you need to before the spell. Don’t leave regrets.”

Rowena stood up from the armchair, feeling an unusual pang of sympathy in her chest at the crushed look on the elder Winchester’s face. “If you do make it back to the land of the living, Castiel? I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

And with that, Rowena was gone as quickly as she had come, leaving behind a room of uneasy stillness. Perhaps, in another world, Dean would roll his eyes at Rowena’s parting comment. He'd brush off whatever snarky comment Sam would add, perhaps even make a joke of his own, pretending he wasn’t picturing what that would be like; a private wedding, most likely, small and familiar, just the people he cares about most.

He doesn’t want to picture that in this world, though. Maybe even just a few hours ago, he’d let himself delve into such dangerous indulgences, of things he never thought he'd have. Hell, things he didn’t even _know_ he wanted.

Now, though… what was the use of imagining such things, when in a few weeks he might just be falling asleep clutching the trench coat of who was once the husband in those dreams?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet now's about the time y'all are frantically searching for that 'Angst with a Happy Ending' tag, huh?


	12. Last Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just… I don’t get it.”
> 
> “You don’t get what?”
> 
> “That you’re not angry!” Dean throws his hands in the air, his voice rising in volume as his frustration takes over. “You should be furious, Cas! Furious that Chuck made you for the sole purpose of being his good little slave! Furious that, once you decided you didn’t want to be part of that, he was so willing to throw you away! And now, after everything… this is how it ends?”
> 
> “What use is there in being angry?” Castiel’s voice is calm and soothing, a complete opposite to the rage brewing in Dean’s. “I could spend the last few hours of my life angry. I could rage on and on, shout to a God that no longer exists about how unfair it is. Or, I could spend my last few hours by your side. I could cherish the moments I get to feel your hand in mine, your heartbeat under my ear, all the things I never thought I’d get to have.”

Remember all the things we wanted,  
Now all our memories, they're haunted,  
We were always meant to say goodbye,

I want you to know,  
That it doesn't matter,  
Where we take this road,  
But someone's gotta go,

And I want you to know,  
You couldn't have loved me better,  
But I want you to move on,  
So I'm already gone

\- 'Already Gone' by 'Sleeping At Last'

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

The air felt stale when they left the Mill’s house. Sam would tell you that Dean’s little stunt of surprising Jody and the girls with his new condition was a jerk move to make, but in reality, it was the exact move he _should_ have made. Because that’s what Dean would have done. Made a joke of things, try and make everything seem light-hearted.

They hadn’t even stayed for dinner. Not that Jody hadn’t offered – she had nearly forced them to sit down at the dinner table by gunpoint. There was something about Dean’s slumped, distant posture that eventually had Jody backing off. Dean had insisted that he wasn’t hungry and had ‘lost his appetite’, which was a cause of concern in itself when it came to Dean, but after what had just happened… Sam would be lying if he said he felt in the mood for sitting around the table for a family dinner, too.

The goodbyes were short, made up of sympathetic pats to their backs and squeezes of their arms. Claire seemed to hold onto Dean for just a little bit longer, holding each other’s gaze for a moment more than usual. Sam tried to pretend he didn’t feel the squeeze around his heart when he saw those blue eyes flash for just a moment as Claire held onto him.

It felt like Cas was saying goodbye for the last time.

At least he had a chance to do so this time, Sam supposed.

“Sam?” Eileen pulls his attention away from Jody squeezing Dean’s hand with a sad smile. Eileen tucks her hand into his, her thumb brushing against his wrist. “Are you… okay?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admits to her. “I want to believe that we have the answer. That Cas is going to be okay, and all we need to do is follow the spell.”

Eileen’s face twists in pity. “But you don’t?”

“It’s hard to when it comes to something this unknown…” Sam stops in his sentence as Dean finishes up his goodbyes, quickly planting a smile on his face when Dean turns to face them. “Hey, do you wanna stop by a diner on the way home or-,”

Sam trails off as Dean just wheels right by him, not even glancing up at the two as he passes by. Sam looks back to Jody over his shoulder as Dean goes, who could only give him one last sorrowful look and a wave before she’s closing the door.

“Right…” Sam mumbles to Eileen, looking to Dean as he continues towards the Impala. “This is going to be a fun car ride home…”

At least, that’s what he thought.

Instead, Dean was quiet. Not a peep in the first two hours of the car ride, just staring out of the window with his eyes unfocused. There was every chance he was talking to Cas in his head, which would make the whole blank look on his face _much_ less disconcerting, but… he gets the feeling that Dean doesn’t want to be interrupted from his thoughts right now, whether he’s talking to Cas or not.

An hour later, Sam glances at him through the rearview mirror. Instead of that empty look on his face, Sam has to keep back a bark of laughter at the sight of his brother’s face planted against the window, mouth open and drooling over himself. Sam taps at Eileen, gesturing towards Dean with a jerk of his head when she turns to see what he wants.

Eileen twists herself around to get a glimpse of Dean, her face breaking out into a grin at the sight of him. “Not the prettiest of sleepers…”

“Probably why he sleeps on his front so much,” Sam jokes. The amused smile quickly drops off his face however, the concern for his brother that he was trying to ignore pushing to the front. “Do you think… with how much he’s sleeping, maybe it’s like… I don’t know, maybe an escape for him?”

“You mean like he’s running away?”

“Yeah. Not that I blame him, but… sleeping has never really been a peaceful thing for either of us, you know? Sometimes I can hear him shouting from across the hall on particularly bad nights. All the bad stuff that’s happened to us, memories of Hell… it’s a weird way to escape.”

“Look at it this way: Dean’s already been through Hell. He knows what happened, he knows what to expect in those dreams. What’s happening _here_ is something he doesn’t know the ending of. In the real world, he might be about to lose Cas. Maybe facing those memories is better than facing reality. One type of Hell that’s more bearable than the other…”

* * *

There’s a door.

It’s a door Castiel has been stood in front of many times. The dreary grey concrete walls seem to focus his vision in towards the warm, soft colors of the door’s wooden material. Castiel’s hand wraps around the door handle, stepping forward to push it open. The door doesn’t budge under his grip, keeping him locked out from the room’s interior.

“Dean?” Castiel calls out to him softly, hand still wrapped around the door’s handle. He waits for a response he doesn’t get. “Dean, I know you’re in there. Can we talk?”

The handle shifts under his hand. A subtle click in its mechanisms underneath the cold metal. When Castiel pushes the door this time, it swings open easily. He takes a cautious step into Dean’s room, waiting for Dean to move from his position on the bed; laid out flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands clasped just under his chest.

It wasn’t until Castiel realized that Dean wasn’t laying in his usual spot on the bed that he moved closer. Dean wasn’t sat in the middle of his bed like he usually was, typically taking advantage of every inch of memory-foam that was available to him. This time, he had shifted over to the left side of the bed, leaving ample room next to him.

Enough room for another person.

Castiel takes a seat on the edge of the bed, letting out a tired sigh when Dean remains silent next to him. His eyes were still firmly fixed on the ceiling, only barely able to see the worried look Castiel was throwing over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye.

“Can’t say I was expecting the bunker this time around,” Castiel breaks the dreadful silence they were in, speaking towards the wall in front of him. “Why the bunker?”

Dean finally reacts, letting his eyes fall closed. “I wanted something normal for us. By our standards, anyway. Not a beach we’ll never get to visit, or some fake bar that only exists in my head. Just… me and you, in the bunker. At home. Something that feels… real.”

Castiel nods, twisting his body around to face Dean. “Why now? That didn’t stop you before?”

“You know why,” Dean mutters darkly. “In a few hours, we’ll be back home. Sam will start getting the ingredients together, and we’ll perform the spell. In a few hours… you might be gone. This could be my last dream with you. Not a memory of you, but the _actual_ you. I… I wanted my last few hours with the real you to feel _real.”_

“I don’t think it matters where we are, Dean. Your dream could take place on the Moon, and it would be all the same; so long as you’re with me.”

The seconds tick by without a reply from Dean. Castiel makes up his mind, bending down to pull the laces of his shoes out of their neat loops, pulling his feet out from his shoes and lining them up neatly next to each other by the bed. He swings his legs up onto the bed, laying down lowering his head on the pillow next to Dean.

Dean’s breath hitches as feels Cas turn towards him. Cas had his fingers scrunched into the soft material of Dean’s shirt, his hand heavy atop Dean’s chest. It does at least get Dean to open his eyes again, greeted to the sight of Cas tucked into his side. Dean feels his hand lifting up before he can think about it, settling on top of Cas’s hand.

“Are you going to tell me why you tried to lock me out?” Castiel’s voice rumbled through the bed.

“Wasn’t my decision. At least, I didn’t choose to.”

“You did,” Castiel insists. “But perhaps it was a subconscious desire to keep me away.”

“Why d’ya think that?”

“You’re trying to push me away,” Castiel says it like a statement of fact, not a guess. “You’re trying to distance yourself, so it won’t hurt as much when I die.”

“ _Don’t-,”_ Dean snaps, the heat in his voice dropping away as quickly as it had come. “Don’t say it like that…”

Castiel frowned at that, the confusion clear on his face. “I thought that was the whole reason you were doing this… that you’ve accepted my fate?”

“It’s not fate,” Dean’s voice has a dangerous edge to it. “This isn’t some pre-destined crap. It’s life screwing us over once again, and I won’t-,”

“You won’t what?”

“Look, maybe the spell _will_ go perfectly, okay? Maybe we’ll get our miracle, and you’ll be back. But… I think we both know that that’s just a pipe dream at this point. Rowena wouldn’t bring it up unless she thought it was a problem, and clearly… she doesn’t have much hope for this either.”

“It could work, yes.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“I don’t know for sure, Dean. We’ve gone over this already.”

Dean nodded his head, turning his gaze back towards the bland ceiling above. “I’ve been doing some thinking, Cas. It’s something that’s been on my mind for a while, and after Rowena… I’ve made up my mind.”

Castiel didn’t like the sound of that. Underneath his hand, he could feel Dean’s heart pounding in his chest. “Dean… what are you talking about?”

“I know I made you a promise, Cas. But I’m going to have to take back that promise.”

“What?”

“When the time comes… when the spell starts to fail, and you’re left with the last of your grace… I want you to kill me.”

Castiel must have heard incorrectly. Yes, that was the only explanation for what he had just heard. Because there was _no_ way Dean had just asked him that.

“This better be some joke I don’t understand, Dean Winchester,” Cas pushed himself up until he was sitting, panicked eyes settling on Dean’s – unfortunately - completely serious face.

“Not a joke,” Dean says quietly. “I don’t care what way you do it; burn me out from the inside, slit my throat and use the last of your grace to heal my body, whatever.”

“How could you ask me that?” Castiel blanches, feeling his voice catch in his throat.

“Because you deserve _better,_ Cas,” Dean pushes himself up to face Cas, both of their expressions beginning to shift to matching frustration at the other. “This way, you get another chance at life, okay? I don’t want to have to live with the reminder that you’re stuck in the Empty, because of _me._ You can take over my body and… and _live._ ”

“ _Live?”_ Castiel splutters. “I will not be _living,_ Dean. I will be _stuck_ , staring at your face in the mirror every day, knowing that I took you away. That you are dead by _my_ hands.”

“I won’t be living either, Cas!” Dean argued back. “When I die… if I’m lucky, my soul goes up instead of down. And hey, maybe it’ll be a fun mariachi party with Rowena if I go downstairs, either way, you can bet your ass that they’d be better than having to live with the reminder that I lost you! That I finally got to know what it’s like to truly have you as my own, then have you taken away! Stuck in that awful freakin’ place for _eternity_ -,”

“Dean, no matter what road we take, I’ll _always_ end up in the Empty,” Castiel interrupted Dean. “Even if we do get me back into my own body, even when my grace runs out, I won’t be _truly_ human. I won’t have a soul. I’ll age, I’ll die… and I’ll be taken to the Empty. We may be only prolonging my fate, but… I still want to experience life – with _you_. Without you, it… it all falls apart.”

“Cas… I can’t do this again…”

“Yes, you can,” Castiel assured him. “If this spell doesn’t work, then… that’s just how it goes. Sam and Eileen will still be here, Dean. You’ll all still have each other. No matter what happens, I’m just grateful that we got to spend the time together that we did – even if most of it was in your head. I never thought we’d ever get to have this, Dean, so the fact that you’ve given me the one thing I always wanted? I’d consider my life fulfilled.”

“You shouldn’t be content with _just_ that, Cas,” Dean argued. “I just… I don’t _get it._ ”

“You don’t get what?”

“That you’re not angry!” Dean throws his hands in the air, his voice rising in volume as his frustration takes over. “You should be _furious,_ Cas! Furious that Chuck made you for the sole purpose of being his good little slave! Furious that, once you decided you didn’t want to be part of that, he was so willing to throw you away! And now, after _everything_ … _this_ is how it ends?”

“What use is there in being angry?” Castiel’s voice is calm and soothing, a complete opposite to the rage brewing in Dean’s. “I could spend the last few hours of my life angry. I could rage on and on, shout to a God that no longer exists about how unfair it is. Or, I could spend my last few hours by your side. I could cherish the moments I get to feel your hand in mine, your heartbeat under my ear, all the things I never thought I’d get to have.”

And _that’s_ why, Dean thinks. That’s the reason he’s as angry as he is on Cas’s behalf. He’s not just angry at God, at the universe, of whatever it is that’s decided that Cas doesn’t get to live. He’s angry because all those things Cas wants to cherish in his last few hours are things Cas should have been able to experience years ago. They’re things that Cas thought he wasn’t allowed to have, things that he thought Dean would _never_ want to share with him.

He’s blaming himself. And he knows that something that Cas wouldn’t want him doing, but he can’t help it. Because it’s not just Cas that loses his life, but Dean, too. Maybe not in the traditional way. Maybe his heart will continue beating in his chest, his soul will still shine in his body, but a part of him will go with Cas. The part of him that found a new type of joy in life.

“You shouldn’t have fallen in love with a coward, Cas,” Dean whispers to him, the fight draining out of him at Castiel’s affectionate gaze.

“I didn’t,” Castiel refutes, the tender touch of his hand on Dean’s face enough for the last of Dean’s defense’s to crumble away. “I fell in love with a man who was raised with an aged idea of what it’s like to _be_ a man. I fell in love with a man who’s willing to throw away any sense of comfort, of happiness for himself, if it means his little brother gets to experience them. I fell in love with a man who taught me what it’s like to truly be part of a family, who loved me even in the times I didn’t deserve it. It’s not just in the way you’ve devoted your life to saving innocents that makes you one of the bravest men I know. It’s that, despite all that’s happened to you, you still _care._ Even despite the way you were taught to believe you should be, you found a way to accept a love you didn’t know you could feel. You, Dean Winchester, are the furthest thing from a coward.”

Despite this, Dean Winchester still considers himself to be a coward. Because, instead of responding to Castiel’s earnest words with ones he himself deserves to hear, he falls back on a move his done many times before – whenever the girl’s he picked up from the bar start talking about going for breakfast the next morning, or whether she can have his number. Instead of telling Cas what he deserves to hear, he closes the small distance between their lips, ignoring that nagging nuisance in the back of his head telling him to savor the taste of Castiel’s lips in case it’s the last time he gets to.

He takes out his frustration against Castiel’s mouth. Instead of using his lips to talk, he all but attacks Cas’s, pushing forward into the angel’s space until his back is forced down into the bed. The sudden drop and subsequent impact have Castiel’s teeth catching at Dean’s lip, piercing the soft flesh without meaning to. The stinging pain is a good distraction, the intensity of it stirring Dean on to push harder, to chase the pain that comes from it.

It’s almost like a battle. Castiel fights back in his own way, pushing himself up against Dean just as much as Dean is forcing him down. He manages to push himself up onto his elbows, his chest pressed against Dean as Dean’s hands snake up his back, the feeling of his fingers brushing against the back of his neck making Cas gasp into his mouth. His lungs are telling him he needs air, but all the rest of his body wants to do is to breathe in more of _Dean;_ to take in the smell of gunpowder ingrained into his skin after years of wielding firearms, of the cheap multi-pack of soap from the local grocery store and the fancy conditioner he secretly steals from Sam on occasion because he likes the way it makes his hair all soft.

Castiel lets his fingers tangle into those soft strands of hair, the sharp tug and burst of pain across Dean’s scalp getting him to growl against Castiel’s mouth, giving Cas more access as his tongue swipes across the freshly open wound that was gouged into Dean’s lip. The taste of metal bursts across his tongue, that sharp coppery flavor he’s so used to tasting from his own blood mixed with an unexpected saltiness – one he realizes with a jolt and a caving feeling in his stomach is of Dean’s tears slipping down to his lips.

“Dean-,” Castiel tries to stop him, but it’s made abundantly clear by the way Dean quickly swoops back in and reclaims his lips that he doesn’t want to hear it.

Castiel gets an arm between them, pushing against Dean’s chest in an attempt to make space. It’s enough to get Dean’s lips to pause, to stutter to a stop, which is all Cas needs to pull away. “Dean, _stop.”_

Dean listens. His lips are parted, hovering only a mere few inches from Cas’s as his breath fans across Cas, panting in his exertion. His eyes are firmly shut, managing to escape Castiel’s disturbed gaze – though not enough to stop his tears from spilling over, mixing with the thin trail of blood that ran down his chin.

“You’re hurt,” Castiel raises a hand to wipe away the blood from Dean’s chin, only to have his hand gently caught in mid-air by Dean’s.

“I know,” Dean rumbles in response, placing a kiss on Castiel’s fingers, leaving behind a smear of red across tan skin. “It’s okay. I need it right about now. The pain makes this feel more…more….”

**More real.**

Castiel’s brow furrows at the pain that flashes across Dean’s scrunched face, letting his hand rest on the side of Dean's face, wanting to just brush the pain away. “We can’t do this like this, Dean. It wouldn’t… we wouldn’t truly be ourselves.”

Castiel is looking at him in that way again. That way that says he already knows all the little things inside Dean's head, all the things he thinks before he even thinks them.

“You're throwing yourself at me as a means to escape. A physical sensation that will help you run away from the problem at hand. That’s not what I want us to be, Dean. I can’t be… a _distraction_ for you.”

“That’s not what you are,” Dean says, ragged and harsh. “You’re not a _distraction_ for me. You're… _fuck,_ you’re my destination, Cas. And you know I don’t like saying girly shit like that, but… I'm trying with _everything_ I got, to get to _you._ All this effort, everything we've done… its led to this. To the future I sometimes think about, with _you_ , and I… I feel like I’m losing my mind, Cas. Because after _everything_ … I might lose my best friend. I might lose my _future_ , and its-,”

Dean drops back down onto the bed, burrowing the heels of his palm into his closed eyes, pressing down until the burn of his tears is replaced by the immense pressure, his blurry vision replaced with the swirling and popping splotches of color in the dark of his closed eyelids.

“Unfair?” Castiel offers the word to finish Dean's rant. It’s enough for Dean to bark out a dry laugh.

“Understatement of the century there, Cas, but sure.”

“I would perhaps argue it’s the understatement of the millennia,” Castiel says, his oddly light and joking tone enough for Dean to peer up at him underneath his hands. “Though, I may be biased; it is _me_ that’s dying, after all.”

Dean laughs, then contradicts himself by telling Cas, “That's not funny.”

“Well, _I_ thought it was funny,” Cas drops into the bed next to him, turning his head to face Dean and gifting him with one of those gummy smiles he so rarely sees from Cas. “And I got most of my sense of humor from _you,_ so… I _know_ you found it funny.”

The toothy smile on Cas’s face relaxes into a more gentle, yet also more perplexed one when he notices Dean’s eyes scanning across his face, seemingly taking in every little detail he can see. “What is it?” Castiel asks after what felt like a good two minutes or so of Dean just _looking._

“Just… devoting you to memory,” Dean’s whispered confession brushes across his face the same time Dean’s finger slides down the bridge of his nose. “Your nose scrunches up when you smile. I mean _really_ smile. The ones when you’re about to laugh.”

“Does it?” Castiel’s brow shoots up in surprise, pinching at his own nose as if it was scrunched up right this minute.

“Yeah. It’s adorable,” Dean tells him with a beaming smile of his own. “Never get to see it from you that often.”

“Didn’t have much to smile about,” Castiel turns onto his side, curled towards Dean – who finds himself copying Cas without much of thought; there was always something about Cas that was like a _magnet_ to him, drawing him in towards the angel, finding himself mere inches away from him in the blink of an eye.

If Cas wasn’t off doing his own thing, causing Dean much undue stress – like he didn’t already have enough of that - there was one place he’d always be: by his side.

As had been stated by _many_ different people – Hell, different _species_ of monsters, angels, and demons alike – in the occasional times they found themselves in such company. It quite literally seemed like everyone and everything knew about him and Cas before they did. Or, at least, _he_ did…

_Castiel? Oh, he’s not here. You see, he has this weakness: he likes you._

_Sorry, you have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench coat who’s in love with you?_

_The stench of that Impala’s all over your overcoat, angel._

_I spent all that time trying to get through to you. Dean calls once and now it's “hello?”_

_Of course. Yeah. You just lost one of the best friends you ever had. But you’re ‘fine.’_

_The very touch of you corrupts! When Castiel first laid a hand on you in hell, he was lost!_

_How do I start looking for this ‘Castiel?’ - - I’ve got one word for you: Winchester._

_Ask him, he was your boyfriend first._

_What about, uh, Castiel? He seems helpful and… dreamy?_

_To save Dean Winchester. That was your goal, right? I mean you draped yourself in the flag of heaven but ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right?_

_And then you’d kill the angel, Castiel. Now that one… that I suspect would hurt something awful._

_There comes a time where every relationship has… run its course._

_I’m gonna cure you of your human weakness, same way I cured my own; by cutting it out._

_If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years on the road? It’s when someone’s pining for somebody else._

_How is it that you lost Dean? I thought you two were joined at the… you know, everything._

“You’ve been smiling more recently, though.” Dean points out. “These past few years with Jack… you seemed… happier.”

“I wouldn’t say happy. Otherwise, the Empty would have taken me long ago. I was… content. Weighed down by this fear I would lose you, or Sam, or Jack, or Mary… lose my _family._ But, content that I, at the very least, _had_ a family. That I was part of your family. And now, these past few weeks… you’ve given me more to smile about, Dean.”

“Glad I’m of some use,” Dean says, eyes flicking up to Cas’s as he picks up on something else. His finger shifts from where it had settled in the dip of Cas’s chin, his feather-like touch now brushing across the corner of Cas’s eyes. “You’ve got crow-eyes too, now. Don’t really see it with the small smiles, but every now and then you do these smiles with your eyes and they’re there. That’s how I know you’re _really_ smiling.”

Castiel hummed in amusement, tapping at Dean’s chest. “You get them too. Beautiful laugh lines…”

“Guess we’re getting older, huh?” Dean cracks a smile that brings out the laugh lines Cas was talking about, which in turn brings them out from Cas.

“Technically, if we’re talking solely vessels, I was able to keep Jimmy’s body from aging for a few years before I stopped channeling my grace towards preserving his age. We’re probably around the same age at this point. I might even be younger than you.”

Dean huffs. “That’s cheating. Us puny humans can’t just pause our aging, you know?”

“Hmm. Instead, you send your aging body into dangerous hunts that would be challenging even to your twenty-six-year-old self. Smart.”

“You’re never going to stop giving me shit for that, huh?”

The care-free smile on Dean’s face disappears seconds after he says this, the painful constricting in chest wrenching it off his face from the cruel thoughts his brain has supplied:

**He doesn’t have much time left to tease you about it.**

“Hey, don’t do that,” Castiel’s words, along with the feeling of his hand reaching out to grab hold of his, brings his focus back onto the angel laid beside him. “Tell me about something else.”

Dean swallows hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat that seemed to have been stuck there ever since they had left the Mill’s family home. “Like what?”

“Tell me about that future you were talking about,” Castiel suggests, letting his fingers trace soothing, delicate patterns across the back of Dean’s hands; weathered, roughened, and scarred hands that aren’t used to such loving touches. “What does that look like?”

Dean ducks his head in embarrassment – which is hard to do when your face is smooshed up against the mattress – trying to laugh off Castiel’s conversation starter. “C’mon man, you don’t want to hear about that…”

“Then why did I ask?” Castiel refutes, which, yeah okay, that was a fair point.

“How far into the future we talking here?”

Castiel’s fingers tap against Dean’s hand as he thinks. “Start small. Then go as far as you can see.”

“Alright…” Dean clears his throat, suddenly finding it difficult to look Castiel directly in the face. “Uh… I guess, without my legs, I’d have to give up the physical part of hunting. Also pretty sure you cant be an FBI agent, or wildlife and game, or whatever else when you can't walk, so… that would rule out the whole investigating and talking to witnesses part, but uh…”

Dean huffs out a laugh at the imaginary scenario playing out in his head, the subtle curl of his lips enough for Castiel’s heart to feel ten times lighter in his chest. “You’d probably have to grab hold of my damn wheelchair to stop me going out there… we’d yell at each other about what I can and can’t do; I’d tell you you’re not my damn babysitter, you’d tell me to stop being such an ass and listen for once…”

“Hmm… I’m starting to wonder if you’re a prophet that we were never told about.”

“Nah. I just know you as well as I know myself. Like how I’m a stubborn dick-,”

“-Who’s being stubborn about his need to keep helping people,” Castiel softens the blow of Dean’s own insult at himself.

“-And how a part of you wishes I _could_ still hunt, because not long ago you could just touch my head and my legs would be fixed, and that guilt eats you up every day. Mostly because, that other part of you is _glad_ I can’t hunt anymore, because now it’s easier to keep me safe.”

Castiel goes quiet at that, the tenseness of his body under Dean’s hand only going to prove his previous statement right. And yet, he still asks Cas, “Am I right?”

“I thought I was the one in your head, not the other way around.”

Dean taps at the center of Cas’s forehead, pushing down a laugh at the way Cas’s eyes go crossed when they try to focus on his finger. “You hang around a guy for twelve years, you _tend_ to get an idea of what’s going on in that big ol’ billions year old celestial brain of yours.”

Castiel grabs hold of Dean’s tapping finger. “Technically, I don’t _have_ a brain, rather a complex system made up of energy and-,”

“ _Really_ not feeling the science lesson right about now, Cas.”

“Apologies. Please continue with your story about how we become a couple that argues all the time.”

Dean snorts at the sass from Cas – the one trait that followed over from his few dickish years of ‘loyal solider of the lord’ Cas – letting Cas fold his hand around Dean’s finger, sliding their hands together in the small space between them. “We _do_ end up arguing about stuff all the time. At first it’s stuff like me staying up too late watching over the hunter phone line… you suggesting you join Sam and Eileen on a hunt – that one gets you sent to the dog house for a few nights.”

“Ah, I could definitely see that… you’d be cuddled up to Miracle whilst I’m left all alone on the couch…”

Dean grins at Cas, raising his free hand to give him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Ya see? One in the same mind…”

“Do we only argue about hunting related topics?”

“Course not. I mean, mostly at first, yeah. But as time goes on… it becomes stuff like who’s turn it is to wash the dishes, you turning into Sam and getting all mother-hen about my diet-,”

“Heart disease is no joke, Dean.”

“Hey, what do you know, not the future but the present!”

Cas shoots him a smite worthy squinty glare. “Well, it _is_ concerning the amount of red meat you eat.”

“Says the guy who was ‘in the low hundreds’ when he went on his ‘White Castle’ binge.”

“That hardly counts; I was being influence by Famine himself.”

“I watched you eat _raw_ burger meat out of a tray on the floor, Cas. On your knees. With your _hands.”_

“Dean, I once saw you puking up into a bush when you thought Sam and I weren’t looking after you bet Sam you couldn’t eat a _whole_ cherry pie after already eaten a triple bacon cheeseburger _with_ a side order of fries _and_ onion rings. _Without_ Famine’s influence, may I add.”

“You, uh… you saw that?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, nose crinkling in disgust at the memory of the cherry-red tinted vomit. “I tried distracting Sam by asking him about a ‘meme’ Claire had sent me on my phone so he wouldn’t see you, quite literally, throwing away your winning bet.”

“Yeah… that didn’t taste as good coming up as it did going down…”

“And yet, you ate _two_ grilled cheese sandwiches when we got back to the bunker.”

“I made space for more food, Cas. I was hungry.” Dean defended himself.

Cas wasn’t swayed by his argument. “You didn’t even brush your teeth first!”

“Eh, I washed the vomit flavor away with beer, it was fine.”

Castiel shook his head at the hunter in a mix of amazement and downright concern. “You are a disaster of a human being, Dean Winchester.”

“Yep. And you love me.”

“And I love you,” Castiel confirms, the words sending Dean's heart into overdrive every time he hears Cas speak them. “Even in our future, when you send me to sleep on the couch for things that are likely your fault.”

“Hey! If I sent you out of our bed, then I would have had a good reason for it.”

“Hmm. Sure.” Castiel hummed in that obnoxiously higher-pitched tone that shows he doesn’t agree with Dean in the slightest.

“Wow. Fine then, guess I won’t tell you about our wedding-,”

That gets Cas’s attention.

“Wedding? You… you’ve thought about that?”

Dean shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal – when in reality his mind is screaming at him to shut up and not talk about this because what red-blooded American guy daydreams about his wedding? “Sometimes, yeah. Do, uh… do _you_ ever think about it?”

“I… I suppose not, no. Marriage is a very human custom, and so… it’s not really something that had crossed my mind.”

“Huh. Guess that makes sense…”

Castiel’s brow pinches at the apparent disappointment in Dean’s voice, worried he took his previous statement as discouragement. “I’d imagine you have a broader knowledge of weddings than me. Describe it for me, Dean.”

Dean huffs, eyes drifting up to the polished wood of his bed’s headboard. “Uh… The reception after would be huge, I'm talking everyone we know – though that’s not many people. Any chance to throw a party, right? But the ceremony itself would be small. Like, ‘ _small’_ small. I’m talking just me, you, Sam, Eileen, and uh…”

Castiel tries to catch Dean’s attention as Dean trails off, but Dean’s eyes are fixed on a small, out of place chip etched into the headboard. “And… who?”

“Well, I thought… if she’d be up for it, that is, that… maybe Claire would be there to, uh… to give you away?”

Castiel’s brows shoot up, taken aback both by Dean’s offer to have Claire be a part of their wedding – even one that was entirely fictional right now – _and_ that Dean was seemingly dancing around the mention of Claire, as if he _wouldn’t_ like the idea of having one of the few people he cares about in this world be there as he marries the only person he’s ever loved.

“Sam would be best man, of course.” Dean continues hurriedly, having missed the emotions on display as they flickered past Castiel’s face. “He’d probably want to officiate too… wouldn’t be too hard to get one of those online licenses for it – at least, that’s what movies and shows have taught me. You’d ask Eileen to be maid of honor, and she’d burst into tears which would probably set Sam off too, and I’ll have to sit there in disbelief as all three of you cry about this wedding that’s still only being planned…”

The small smile on Cas’s face slowly grows bigger and bigger as Dean babbles on, not even noticing the shiny glean that was swimming in Castiel’s ocean eyes.

“And… shit, seeing as this is a fake wedding and all that… I’d like… _Fuck-,”_

The expletive takes Cas by surprise – almost as much as the tears that Dean quickly wipes away with his thumb before Castiel can even be sure they were there.

“It would just be nice if Jack was there, you know? I mean, he… I know, he’s God and all that now, more important things, but… he’s our _son,_ and-,”

That did it. Castiel didn’t think anything could both hurt him and make him feel like his heart was full more than Dean calling Jack their ‘kid’, but there was something about ‘son’… something so much more personal and _fatherly_ about that, that pushed the tears that had been building out from the creases of his lids and spill down the angels face, catching in the maze of stubble that was lightly brushed across his cheeks.

Castiel reaches out a shaking hand, placing it atop the handprint he knows lays beneath the flannel shirt covering skin he had once rebuilt atom-by-atom, giving Dean a watery smile when the hunter's breath hitches at the contact. “I don’t know much about weddings… but I can’t imagine one more perfect than that.”

Dean returns the smile with a tender one of his own, pulling out the arm that was pinned under his own body to rest his hand atop Cas’s. “Yeah… and I probably wouldn’t even need a ring – you’ve already branded ‘Property of Castiel’ right here on my arm.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at the teasing in Dean’s tone; humor was a typical fallback for Dean when in an emotional situation he didn’t know how to deal with, and Castiel was used to rolling with it at this point. “Are you saying you want it removed?”

Dean very nearly threw Castiel’s hand off his shoulder in case he was about to do exactly that. “Don’t you _dare._ I kind of like being your property. Next time a cougar at the bar is being a little too overenthusiastic about taking me home with her I’ll just flash her the scar, I’m sure that’ll scare her right off – If you don’t smite her on the spot, that is.”

“…Why would a feline be in a bar?”

The snort Dean makes catches even _him_ off guard, dipping his head down to stifle his short burst of (totally manly) giggles. “Not… not _that_ kind of cougar, Cas…” Dean barely manages to say through his chuckles, shaking his head at his, occasionally, clueless angel. “You know… part of me wishes I could give you a handprint of my own. My version of a ‘Property of Dean Winchester’ sign… Guess the ring would have to do…”

Except… except the ring _wouldn’t_ do. Because he’ll never get to place that ring on Castiel’s finger. He’ll never stand by his side, with Sam reading him some made-up vows- because screw doing it the God-given way – and he’ll never get to flash those girls at the bar an apologetic smile and tell them ‘Sorry ladies, I’m married.’

“I’m still not completely up to date with human etiquette, but I’m fairly certain that most couples do not wish to scar their significant others?”

Oh, Cas. There you are to save the day again.

“Most people don’t fall in love with an angel,” Dean points out.

Dean leans forward at the same time as Cas, the two meeting halfway. This kiss is polar opposite from the last; it’s soft and tender, lingering touches where neither seems to want to end it, smooth and natural like they’ve been doing it all their lives.

Dean’s throat burns furiously as he smiles at Cas, hoping that if he somehow does make it to that ripe old age where you can pretty much eat only soup and spend your day's retailing stories of your youth, that his aged and concussion addled brain remembers every detail of _this_ moment.

“And you know what, Cas? I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

* * *

The white lines of the Enochian sigil painted onto the murky grey of the concrete floor seem almost blinding, _begging_ for his attention. The long library table had been pushed off to the side, making room for the large sigil Eileen had painstakingly painted onto the floor, both Sam and Dean hovering nearby anxiously to make sure not a single mark or line was missing.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he had been staring at it now. Long enough for Sam to throw him anxious looks from behind the library table, flittering back and forth from the table to other rooms to gather all the ingredients they needed.

Sam had been giving him those looks non-stop since they had arrived back at the bunker. Dean had come to groggily in the back of the Impala, unable to wipe away the tears that had transferred over from his dream existence to the real one before Sam has spotted them, his mouth straightening into a thin line that _screamed_ of his need to comfort his older brother, but knowing the conversation would either get him nowhere, or a black eye.

Cas’s trench coat was draped over his legs, ready to be placed into the sigil when Sam signaled for it for the spell. None of it seemed real. Everything felt so hurried, so… _ready_ to go, except for _him._ The thought that all of this would be over in a few minutes or so made him want to throw up. Either he’d lose Cas, or they’d get him back in the physical world for the first time in _weeks_ , but he knew what the more likely outcome was here and-

“It’s ready.”

Dean jolts at Sam’s voice, glancing up to see Sam stood behind the table alongside Eileen; a sturdy wooden bowl they used for many spells sat directly in front of him whilst the few ingredients needed for the spell were situated in smaller contains, situated around the bowl on top of the table.

“Wait, hang on!” Dean calls out just as Sam is reaching for the first ingredient. “My soul!”

Sam can only frown at that, moments away from berating Dean if he were about to suggest making _another_ deal. “…What about it?”

“Can’t angels kind of _boost_ their grace with a soul? I mean, it’s just one form of energy converting into another, right?”

“Oh!” Sam realized in surprise, almost smacking himself atop the head for not remembering it sooner. “How did I forget about that?”

_‘Dean…’_

**‘You can do it, right? I know you were in your body the last time you powered up from my soul, but…’**

_‘Yes, I can still do it, but… are you sure?’_

**‘What the hell is there to be sure about, Cas?’**

_‘Surely you remember what it was like from the last time? It’s an excruciatingly painful procedure that-,’_

**‘Gonna stop you right there, Cas. I don’t care how painful it is, okay? If it’s going to help you, then I’m doing it. End of discussion.’**

“Cas is on board,” Dean tells Sam before Cas can argue anymore, getting a long-suffering sigh from the angel.

_‘As you wish, Dean…’_

“Okay, so…” Sam said, eyes darting between the ingredients in front of him. “It’s a fairly simple spell, like Rowena said. Just gotta prepare some of these ingredients first…”

Dean watches nervously as Eileen hands Sam whichever ingredients are required; a mix of herbs and rather disturbingly small animal bones that disappear into the bowl, crushed under the pestle in Sam’s giant hands.

“Alright… Now, Dean, you need to put Cas’s trench-coat in the sigil. Directly in the middle of it, if you can.”

Dean awkwardly wheels himself in between the lit white candles that were dotted along the exterior of the sigil, letting his hands brush across the scratchy material of Cas’s coat before carefully lowering it down onto the ground, spreading out the coat as much as his body would let him before wheeling himself back and out of the sigil.

“Okay… then it’s just the blood, a few words, Cas’s grace, and then… we can only wait and see.”

“Uh… Sam?”

Sam glanced up from the ingredients in his hands at Dean’s voice. “What? What is it?”

“I, uh… I was actually thinking we could try _just_ using the grace we got from Claire first.”

Sam and Eileen turn to each other, matching expressions of both concern and surprise on the couple’s face.

“It’s the best way,” Dean tries defending himself at the sight of their faces. “Try the bit of Grace that isn’t _entirely_ Cas first.”

“Okay…” Sam said slowly, the alarm in his voice making Dean’s chest clamp in worry. “And… and if that grace doesn’t work on its own?”

Dean swallowed deeply, somehow able to hear his own harsh swallow past the pounding of his heart. “Then… then we use the rest of Cas’s grace, powered up from my soul.”

Sam nods slowly, and Dean knows the words that are about to leave Sam’s mouth before he even says them. “And if _that_ doesn’t work?”

Dean knew what Sam was trying to hint at. The memories he was trying to resurface, from when he practically lost himself to grief the last time Cas had died. Dean isn’t going to let him do that this time. He isn’t going to show Sam his cards.

“Then… it doesn’t work.”

Sam gives him one last stare, one last moment where his gaze seems stuck to Dean before it drops back down to the table in front of him. He clears his throat as he finishes grinding down the last of the ingredients in the bowl, taking a deep and trembling breath to steady himself as his eyes drift over the words to the spell one last time.

“You ready?” He has the courtesy of asking Dean.

 **‘No.’** “Yes.”

Sam’s shaking breaths may have given away his nerves, but his hands were as steady as a rock as they took the vial of blood that Eileen handed to him. The dark liquid dances around the glass vial, staining its sides with streaks of bright red as Sam carefully removes its lid.

“ _Acer Liquid e vita carnem Filii familiaritatem,”_ Sam lets the Latin roll off his tongue as the blood spills from the vial, staining the once vivid white bone powder a dark, muddy red. “ _Tumultus, caro est; et hoc est quod quidam uenti diuersos auctor est scriptor.”_

Dean’s breath hitches in a strangled gasp as the flames of the candles first begin to flicker, blowing about like there was some sort of wind rushing past them before they begin to steadily grow in height, able to feel the heat of them against his face as they rise.

 _“Ad coniungere materia, quae olim pars eorum,”_ Sam continues, eyes fixated on the swirling glow of the grace in the vial Eileen held. With the slightest of nods from him, Eileen is uncapping the vial, directing the seemingly alive Grace towards the bowl.

 _“Esse vim auferre. Reversusque statim producat id quod est suum,”_ The grace seems to move on instinct, sliding towards the bowl instead of towards its owner, like a part of Sam was worried it would.

Sam only has a few seconds to admire the beautiful mix of white, blue, and red before the room disappears in a flash of blinding white light that has him turning away and burrowing his head into the crook of his elbow.

Dean blinks away the unexpected blindness, trying to peer past the spots in his vision to see what was going on. He can only gape in horror at the sight of…

Of _flesh_. Whatever was in the bowl had formed into a glob of squelching meat that seemed to _crawl_ off the table, landing within the sigil with a wet _thud._ It inched itself towards the trenchcoat, burrowing itself underneath the piece of clothing, from which it seemed to…

“It’s taking shape,” Sam breaths in disbelief, pointing towards the disgusting mass on the floor. “Look!”

Sam was right. Dean could see that, underneath the cover of the trench coat, it was beginning to take form of something _roughly_ human-like in appearance. All three of them held their breath as the mass continued to shift about on the floor, slowly forming from a ball of _parts_ to what Dean imagined a human would look like if you only had the skeleton and a bunch of meaty colored playdough to sculpt with.

And then… it stopped.

They watched in absolute _horror_ for a few moments as the mass stopped moving, stopped taking shape, and then… It seemed to move in reverse. It began _losing_ its shape, pieces of flesh and muscles tearing away from it, blood seeping out from the ball of human material and smearing across the white lines of the sigil.

“It’s failing,” Sam stated the obvious, frantic eyes looking from what _should_ have been Cas’s body to Dean. “Dean, the spell is failing. It’s not enough grace.”

Steely, determined eyes flicked up to meet his brothers, and in that moment, Sam _knew._ He knew what was coming, and he was powerless to stop it.

“ _No,”_ Dean said sternly, shaking his head furiously at the blob as it continued to shrink. “I’m not doing it, Cas. I’m _not._ ”

There was a brief moment where Dean looked pained – shocked, even – before Sam saw green eyes be replaced by a flash of blue. Both Sam and Eileen could only watch on as Dean, no, _Cas,_ pushed Dean’s body out of his wheelchair, painstakingly dragging himself towards the mass.

Then, the eyes flashed once more. Dean was back in control, teeth gritted in determination as he tried pushing himself _away_. “Do it, Cas! DO IT! TAKE CONTROL! KILL ME!”

A flash again. Cas, once more, letting the tears that had been building in Dean’s eyes slip over. HE can only shake his head at Dean’s screams – that of which Sam had no doubt he was having to hear within his own mind, as he continued crawling towards _his_ body inch by inch with Dean’s arms.

It wasn’t enough. Another burst of blue, another moment of control by Dean. Only this time… he didn’t pull back. He wasn’t moving forward either, just laid out on the floor, gasping for breath as his sobs caught in his throat. “ _Please…_ Cas, I _can’t_ do this without you, I-,”

Dean goes silent. His own sobs more muted now, trying to listen to the words Castiel was speaking in his mind. “Don’t say it now…” Sam hears Dean beg to Cas, not sure whether he wanted to know what Cas was saying, hoping that whatever it is, it gets through to his brother.

“Don’t say it when…” Is all Dean can get out before another sob wrenches from his lungs. “ _Fuck…_ Okay… Okay… I love you, too. You know I do.”

Eileen’s hand is gripped tightly around his, the only reminder he’s not alone in watching his brother go through what must likely be some of the worst pain in his life. Seeing physical vulnerability from his brother was one thing, but _this?_ This was something else entirely. He just wanted for Cas to be okay. He wanted for his brother to be okay.

_Please… Please, let them be okay._

Dean began moving forward again. _Dean_ this time, not Cas. Something was sticking out from the mass, something vaguely arm shaped, and Dean flopped next to the beginnings of Castiel’s body, rolling onto his back on the hard concrete floor and turning his head to the side to face it. When Dean’s eyes flash blue again, Sam knows it is not because of a change in possession. Dean’s ear-piercing scream of agony is proof of that, the horrifying sound reverberating around the large rooms of the bunker as the glow of ~~grace~~ _Castiel_ grows brighter and brighter.

And then, when Sam didn’t think it was possible for Castiel to glow any brighter than he was, Dean’s hand reaches out and intertwines with the hand of the being. Dean’s veins glow with that bright blue of angel grace, traveling from his chest down his arm, crossing over to the being which begins glowing with its own streaks of grace.

It pulsates one last time, and then…

The room explodes. One big ball of light, expanding out from the mass on the floor. Sam found himself instinctively turning towards Eileen, shielding her with his body. He had been expecting to be hit by a wave of _heat_ , along with that solid wall of force that typically comes from such explosions, throwing them across the room.

None of that happens, however. As the light begins to fade, Sam unpeels himself from Eileen, glancing over his shoulder to what he thought would be a crater in the middle of the room. The sigil is still intact, though the candles had been blown out by the explosion of light. Dean was blinking furiously on the floor, still sprawled out on his back as he rubbed his burning eyes. He hadn’t noticed yet. He hadn’t noticed that there, right next to him on the ground, was a body.

Lying amongst the sigil, as naked as the day he was born – or at least, his _vessel_ was born… was Cas. His trench-coat at least saved _some_ of his modesty, acting as a blanket that the fresh body was curled under.

“Cas?” Dean croaks out at the sight of him. He scrambled towards Cas as fast as his arms would let him, cursing his useless legs for slowing him down as he pulls himself towards the angel – if he still was one, that is.

Beads of sweat roll down Dean’s temple as he reaches Cas's side, slipping his hands under Cas’s body and heaving him up onto his lap as he sits up as best he can. The dead-weight of Castiel under his hands has his chest squeezing tight with fear, the seconds that tick by without a response from Cas being the most torturous of his life. His eyes search frantically around Castiel’s face for a sign of life, met with closed eyes instead of the dazzling blue that never fails to take his breath away.

Dean’s gaze drops down to Castiel’s chest. There was…nothing. No movement, no steady rise and fall as Cas takes in his first breaths in a new, yet familiar, vessel.

“C’mon, Cas…” Dean whispers down to his angel. His hand rests on Castiel’s chest, waiting to feel that reassuring ‘thud’ of a heartbeat against his hand. The skin under his touch is firm, but stone cold. Castiel’s heart remains silent in his chest. “I need you to wake up, Cas. Okay? I need you to wake up for me.”

Dean can’t control the trembling of his fingers as they run through Castiel’s hair, his other arm pulling Castiel closer to him as his body is wracked with more sobs he has no hope of holding back. “ _Please… Don’t do this to me, Cas. I don’t wanna do this without you. Don’t… don’t leave me… I still need you… Please…”_

Castiel remains still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... Listen...
> 
> You see the completion status, right? It's still IN PROGRESS. 
> 
> so plz don't kill me just yet... I beg of you... or like, don't dox me, or whatever else. It's not over yet! I promise!
> 
> Please don't hurt me...


	13. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To his right is a building. It’s an old building, but not in that desolate, crumbling way an abandoned building would be. It’s well-loved, with many pairs of feet having walked through its front doors. Its aged wooden exterior has stood the test of time, the weathered appearance only adding to its charm. However, the strange thing about this building is… that it shouldn’t exist. It had burned down, years ago now, taking a beloved friend of the Winchesters with it. And yet, the switched-off neon sign situated above the bar’s awning proudly displayed ‘Harvelle’s Roadhouse’ as if that horrid event had never happened. 
> 
> Castiel doesn’t have too much time to ponder on that, however, as the third thing he takes in is… himself. Sat upon a less than stable looking wooden chair under the Roadhouse’s awning is the spitting image of himself, although this version of him has forgone his usual trench coat attire, instead opting for a simple pair of well-worn jeans and a button-up shirt. The man waves him over and, without really knowing why, Castiel finds himself walking over.

**Character Key For Telepathic Conversations**

_'Italic Text'_ \- Castiel

 **'Bold Text' -** Dean

* * *

Castiel opens his eyes.

Which, in itself, is unexpected. His last experience in the Empty was one of… nothingness. He had only awoken once he had heard Dean calling to him, but before that… he was lost in a deep, _deep_ sleep. He had assumed that meant the Empty had decided it was better to just throw him as far into the Empty as possible to sleep through his worst nightmares, allowing the Empty to _finally_ go back to sleep itself.

Perhaps this time was different. Perhaps he had escaped the Empty’s clutches one time too many, woken it up from its slumber for the last time, and will now be subjected to the worst torture imaginable by this very ancient, and _very_ pissed off being.

Either way, the sight that greets him when his eyes open is not of the Empty’s infinite stretches of darkness. He is also not greeted to the sight of the bunker’s ceiling, with the worried faces of the Winchester brothers and Eileen leaning over his freshly made body.

The first sight he sees is the sky; Rich blue in color that he’s sure no type of man-made paint would ever be able to match in even the most magnificent of paintings, dotted with beautifully crafted pillow-like clouds which floated lazily over his head. The gentle warmth of the sun above kissed his skin; not that searing heat that has your skin feeling raw and tight, but that perfectly comfortable temperature that can only be made better by – oh, and there it was: a gentle warm breeze that was cool enough to take off the edge of the sun’s rays, but also warm enough that it doesn’t leave him shivering under his trench-coat.

All of this information comes together in one big conclusion: wherever he had ended up…

He was no longer an Angel.

The surface under his back is hard enough that his shoulder blades have begun to ache, a consistent and uncomfortable pressure that forces him up to his feet. Once his body listens to his commands and has him taking in his surroundings, he’s able to take in the sight of the smooth, tarred road he had been laid out on, stretching out in front of him before bending around a corner and out of sight. Most of the road was surrounded by dense forest on either side, the few rays of light breaking through the tangled branches of the treetops shining down on the sun-bleached grass.

To his right is a building. It’s an old building, but not in that desolate, crumbling way an abandoned building would be. It’s well-loved, with many pairs of feet having walked through its front doors. Its aged wooden exterior has stood the test of time, the weathered appearance only adding to its charm. However, the strange thing about this building is… that it shouldn’t exist. It had burned down, years ago now, taking a beloved friend of the Winchesters with it. And yet, the switched-off neon sign situated above the bar’s awning proudly displayed ‘Harvelle’s Roadhouse’ as if that horrid event had never happened.

Castiel doesn’t have too much time to ponder on that, however, as the _third_ thing he takes in is… himself. Sat upon a less than stable looking wooden chair under the Roadhouse’s awning is the spitting image of himself, although this version of him has forgone his usual trench coat attire, instead opting for a simple pair of well-worn jeans and a button-up shirt. The man waves him over and, without really knowing why, Castiel finds himself walking over.

“Hello, Castiel,” The man greets him with a welcoming smile as he stands from the chair. His voice is similar to his own, though not of the same grumbly, rough pitch.

“Is this supposed to be some sort of trick?” Castiel asks the thing wearing his skin, unsure whether to keep his eyes focused on his double, or the strange world he had woken up in.

The man’s smile turns almost sad in nature, seeing the expression on his own face rather… _jarring_ to see. “Ah… you think I’m the Empty, don’t you?”

“I’m dead, am I not?” Castiel answers his question with another question. “Where else would I go?”

“Well, I doubt _I_ could convince you you’re not in that place,” The man places a hand on his own chest as he speaks. “But there _is_ someone waiting to talk you in there that might. A few, actually. We’ve been keeping a close eye on you guys; it’s been both stressful and amusing to watch everything unfold, I can tell you that.”

Castiel’s eyes briefly flicker to the closed door of the Roadhouse at the man’s jab of a thumb behind himself, his new ears picking up the sound of soft music, chatter, and laughter emitting from within. “This… this _isn’t_ the Empty?”

“Nope.”

“And… _you’re_ not the Empty?”

“Also no.”

“Then… who are you?”

The man laughs kindly at that – not a mocking laugh, almost more… that he had been expecting for that question. “I was chosen to be the guy that welcomes you up here. Thought it would be nice for you to see a familiar face when you woke up - even if it’s only familiar because you’re borrowing it from me.”

It took an embarrassingly long time for Castiel to connect the dots. To be fair, he _had_ just died, so everything was a little disorienting right now. “…James?”

James’s face twisted in discomfort at the name. “I prefer Jimmy, to be honest with you. ‘James’ feels weird…”

Castiel could only gawp at his vessel; both because of how friendly he was being towards him (especially considering they hadn’t left each other on the best of terms), and because, if he was talking to Jimmy right now, in front of the Roadhouse, basking in the most perfect weather he’s ever experienced, then…

“This… is Heaven?” Castiel finally gets out. “I’m in Heaven?”

“You are,” Jimmy confirms.

“I don’t understand…” Castiel mumbles, placing a hand on his chest as if he would be able to feel the one thing he shouldn’t have. “I… I don’t have a soul?”

“You didn’t _have_ a soul. You do _now_.” Jimmy corrects him. “One of the few perks to being human.”

Before Castiel could say anything in response to this revelation, Jimmy was patting him on the back with a sympathetic smile. “Look, I know this is all… a _lot_. First time I woke up here was weird, too. One second I’m watching you throw a Molotov at Lucifer himself, the next I’m being ripped into atoms, and… here I am.”

“Ah…yes…” Castiel ducks his head in shame. “I'm sorry for-,”

“Sorry?” Jimmy cuts him off with a laugh. “Castiel… I had accepted to being chained to you for _eternity,_ remember? Trust me, coming up here was the _best_ thing that could have happened to me.”

“But…” Castiel begins with a frown. “What about Claire? I took you away from her. I made you miss watching her grow up, I-,”

“You did what you had to do to save the world. Which you and those guys down there did. _Many_ times. Because of you, my girl gets to keep on living. I'm _proud_ to have been the one that helped you to do that, Castiel. Even if it’s only by lending you my body.”

“That doesn’t excuse me of depriving her of a father.”

Jimmy sighs deeply at Castiel's insistence on kicking himself while he’s down. “She still had a father, Castiel. Sure, it took you a while, but you got there eventually. Buying her embarrassing birthday presents that she secretly loves? That's what a _dad_ does. But most of all? You protected her, Castiel. You made sure to look out for her. Now, she has a _home._ And I know that Sheriff will be as protective over my girl as Amelia was, along with all those other girls shacked up in that house. She's _safe_. She has a chance to live her life. And one day… I'll get to see her again. I can’t ask for much more, Cas.”

Castiel smiled gratefully at his former vessel, diverting his gaze to the ground. “And… how are _you_ , Jimmy? You and Amelia?”

“Never better,” Jimmy assured him, placing a hand on his back and diverting him towards the Roadhouse’s entrance. “Felt like a blink an eye before Amelia was up here with me. Things are even better with the change-,”

“The what?” Castiel planted his feet firmly, coming to a stop in front of the door. “What change?”

“Heaven, Castiel. Recently, there’s been some uh… well, let’s just say it’s not the Heaven you remember. Trust me - you’ll see what I mean when you get inside.”

Castiel’s gaze was drawn towards Jimmy’s hand gesturing towards the door in front of them, watching Castiel expectantly with a raised eyebrow. Castiel cast Jimmy one last look, praying quietly to himself that this _wasn’t_ some sort of trick as he pushed open the door to the Roadhouse.

The interior of the Roadhouse is bathed with warm light, and filled with people milling about the bar, chatting happily to one another with drinks in hands. Who exactly these people are, Castiel does not know, for he only has a few seconds to take everything in before-

“There he is!” The excited yell comes from somewhere to his left, and he’s only just about able to turn his head towards the person yelling before his vision is overtaken by a small red-headed woman wrapping herself around him, nearly sending him stumbling back out of the Roadhouse.

“Charlie?” Castiel is just about able to get out, having all the air squeezed out of his new lungs by the arms locked around his ribs.

Charlie is beaming up at him just as brightly as the first time they had met, giving Cas an enthusiastic punch to the shoulder that was, honestly, borderline painful. “It’s good to see you, dude! Well, not good in the way that you’re _dead,_ but, uh… you know, it’s just good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too,” Castiel said, able to hear Jimmy’s amused chuckles at their reunion as he squeezes past the two.

“Told Charlie I had a feeling I’d be seeing one of you guys here, soon,” Another familiar voice appears at Cas’s side, glancing over to see the amused smile of Kevin Tran. “Perhaps not a few minutes after _I_ got up here, but… should I ever be surprised?”

“Kevin…” Castiel breaths out in disbelief. “You… you made it into Heaven?”

Kevin shoots him a strained smile. “Third time’s the charm, right?”

“But… you were sent to Hell…” Castiel recalls, wincing at the reminder of what Chuck had cruelly done. “Damned souls aren’t permitted into Heaven.”

“Yeah… but that was Chuck’s rules,” Kevin said. “New boss in town has made some changes to the rules. No more worrying about going back to Hell, or potentially going crazy wandering around Earth in ghost form… Feels like it’s the first time I’ve been able to relax in… _forever.”_

“It’s… it’s been some time,” Castiel says awkwardly.

“Yeah, for you,” Charlie jumps in. “Time is funky up here, feels like it’s been… a few hours? For me, at first, I was just at my old home, back when I was a kid. Just me, my mom, and my dad, like the good old times. But something felt… weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, it was like… it was like I wasn’t _myself,_ not completely. Heaven felt like… like someone _telling_ me what my Heaven should be. I don’t know if that really makes sense, but it wasn’t exactly _bad,_ you know? But it also didn’t feel real. Like I was in some sort of play. And then, it felt like the walls came down. We were free to go where we want, see _who_ we want. It feels like we’re back on Earth, but… if Earth was _paradise,_ you know? No monsters, no worry about money. You have everything you want, the people you love, it’s just… it’s everything we were missing, and we didn’t even know we were _missing_ it.”

Castiel huffs out a breathy laugh of realization. “Paradise on Earth… I _thought_ I had been shown Earth, but it’s not…”

“We’ve been playing catch up, finding out what you guys have been up to down there,” Charlie tells him, giving him a sly grin. “I can’t believe Dean _finally_ told you! It had been _killing_ me to see you guys in person, pretty much a couple already but never crossing over the line. I mean it was bad enough reading about the eye-fucking in the Carver Edland books, but to see it in _person_ -,”

“ _Chuck’s_ books?” Castiel interrupted her in horror. “ _God_ wrote about me and Dean… like _that?”_

“I mean… he was just writing what he saw,” Charlie’s knowing look made Castiel want to run away and hide. “Dean might just be the biggest disaster of a closeted Bi I had ever met…”

“Good to know I wasn’t the only one being subjected to that,” Kevin interjects with a shake of his head.

Castiel continues to look on in horror. “You knew that…?”

“One of Dean and mine’s first interactions was of Dean guiding me through step by step on how to flirt with a _guy,_ ” Charlie told him with a snort of laughter. “ _Kinda_ had an inkling that something was up after that. And then when I saw you guys together during that pizza night… I’ve never found something so adorable and yet so _infuriating_ at the same time.”

“I’m… sorry?” Castiel offered.

Charlie grinned at his unsure-sounding apology, shaking her head at him. “You got nothing to be sorry for, Cas; Wouldn’t exactly expect an angel to be the most skilled in the art of seduction – and Dean was as blind as a bat to miss all the obvious signal you were sending his way. But seems like he got there eventually, right?”

“Yes, he did. Not that I ever expected it, but…” Castiel’s sentence hangs in the air, his warm smile at the memories of the past few weeks fading. “I… I left him again. I’m… I’m dead, and Dean-,”

“Hey,” Charlie stops him from going too far into such thoughts. “You can’t get caught up on that kind of stuff, okay? Trust me, it does you no good. Just… go around, say ‘Hi’ to everyone, catch up with all these guys and… try to enjoy your ticket into Heaven, huh?”

Castiel tried to smile at Charlie’s attempt at comforting him, but it comes out a bit more strained than he intended. “I never even thought I’d be returning to Heaven, but…”

Charlie’s able to read the expression on his face, almost able to feel the pain radiating off of Castiel herself. “It’s not Heaven without Dean.”

“No,” Castiel agreed quietly. “Dean was so desperate not to lose me again… he didn’t want to… to _live_ without me, and I – it’s… that’s not a love I’ve ever known.”

“You’ll see him again one day,” Kevin assured him. “He’ll be up here. All of them will be.”

Charlie’s eyes drifted off to somewhere behind him. The frown that twists across her features helps to distract Castiel momentarily, his head tilting to the side as he asks, “What is it?”

“Surprised you couldn’t feel the eyes burning into your back,” Charlie answers, gesturing with a flick of her chin behind him. “Think he might be sizing you up…”

Castiel turns around, eyes scanning across the room in the direction Charlie had gestured to. There, sat upon a table, was where Castiel’s eyes met the searching stare of John Winchester. He didn’t exactly look _upset_ to see Castiel – but he didn’t look particularly happy, either. This was quite the contrast to the smiling figure of Mary Winchester sat opposite him, whose smile held the same warmth she would direct towards her sons.

Castiel barely feels Charlie’s encouraging pat on his back as he strides over to the Winchester’s table, his gaze fixed on John as he stood from his chair, placing the brown-bottled beer in his hands atop the table, holding his head high as Castiel gets closer.

“So, you must be the guy who-,” Is as far as John gets before Castiel’s fist connects with John’s jaw, sending the older man sprawling back onto the ground. Mary seemed to have been expecting this at least _somewhat_ , jumping up from her chair and racing around to her husband’s side, ready to get involved in case things get _too_ out of hand.

“That was on behalf of Dean – seeing as he could never bring himself to do it,” Castiel spits coldly, glowering down at John.

John spends a few moments on the ground with a hand held against his split and already bruising lip (though that would heal away in mere minutes), looking up at Castiel in genuine shock before the rage kicks in. The fury seems to burn through the hazel ring of his eyes, circles of fire shining around the pitch black of his pupils as he glares up at him from the ground. Despite the fact that John had a good few inches of height over him, he still seemed to show some wariness alongside his obvious desire to jump up and sock Castiel in return. After all, Castiel _was_ a solider of God that has millennia’s worth of battles under his belt; it's not _too_ unlikely that Castiel would lay out this human flat in a fight.

“Who the hell do you-,” John is interrupted once more as, to his surprise, Castiel’s hand appears in his field of vision, held out in offering. It perplexes him enough that his anger subsides momentarily, gaze flicking between the hand in front of him, and the unreadable expression of _blankness_ on Castiel’s face.

“The only reason I have a _smidgen_ of respect for you is because of your son's love for you, and for your sacrifice for him,” Castiel hisses down at him. John nearly has enough pride to shove away the hand in front of his face and stand up on his own two feet, but the warning look his wife is sending his way is enough for him to reluctantly grab hold of the former angel's hand.

Castiel drags him up to his feet, keeping a firm grip on John’s hand as he speaks. “But for the _years_ of abuse to your sons? Of the neglect, of the nights leaving your _son_ to raise his brother whilst you lost yourself to drink? Of sending your children off to hunt _monsters_ when they should have been studying for their SATs, and trying to mold your son into the man you _think_ he should be, forcing your ideals onto him until he became the good soldier you could order around…”

Castiel shakes his head in disgust at John, who looks torn between keeping up his mask of rage or cowering away from the centuries-old being so fervently defending his own son. “For all of that? You deserve much worse than a single punch, John Winchester.”

“Castiel, it’s _okay_ ,” Mary assures him, placing a calming hand on his arm - that of which was still wound up tight with his fist clenched. “We had a long _talk_ when I got back up here. _Trust me._ ”

Castiel’s eyes dart between John and Mary, taking a single step back from John – only if to soothe Mary’s nerves somewhat.

“I know what I did to my sons was a crappy thing,” John’s confession takes Castiel by surprise. “I didn’t see it back then. _Refused_ to see it the way it was. In my mind, I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. That I had to raise my boys as tough as I could because that was the only way they could handle the real, _shitty_ world out there. I was raising them with survival in mind, but I… I never once stopped to consider if they were actually _living._ ”

“It was… a messy situation,” Mary adds in. “It’s not like all is suddenly forgiven. When our boys get up here, it’ll…” Mary paused, casting John a look that had him averting his gaze – probably the one person in his life that could get him to do that. “Some wounds will take time to heal. And some of those scars will _always_ remain.”

“But I’m gonna try,” John insisted. “I’m gonna try and be the father they never had.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at John, wishing there was still enough grace left inside him to track John’s pulse and see if he was lying or not. “Good…” Castiel finally breaks the silence the three were in. “Because I intend to be by Dean’s side every second he’s here to make sure you do, indeed, _try._ ”

“I fully expect you to,” John replied. “As I was saying - you must be the guy who’s been looking after my boys?”

“We look after each other,” Castiel corrected him. “That’s what family does.”

John cleared his throat awkwardly, looking desperate to return to his seat and continue drinking to get away from the situation he was in. “Uh, yeah… and, from what I hear, you and Dean are… uh… good friends?”

Castiel’s narrow-eyed glare returns in full force, straightening his spine as he leveled his gaze on John’s apprehensive one. “Yes. Dean and I are ‘ _friends’-,”_

“Alright, look, it’s just… it’s weird for me. Back then-,”

“We’re not ‘ _back then’_ anymore,” Castiel cuts him off. “And such discrimination was wrong ‘ _back then’_ too, but you all followed poisoned words and ideals to force people into hiding, and into living unhappy lives where they were unable to be their true selves.”

“I’m just telling you how it was, okay?” John tried defending himself. “We were taught that there were cures for such things and-,”

“-And I’m telling you you’re wrong,” Castiel stepped forward once more, somehow appearing more intimidating when John was the one who stood taller than him. “There is no _cure_ because there’s nothing _to_ cure.”

“John, _drop it,_ ” Mary snapped at her husband. “Our son is _happy_ with Castiel. You know that, you _saw_ that. I don’t even want to think about what Dean must be going through right now, and _you_ should know full well what that’s like seeing as you had to go through it with _me.”_

The fight seemed to drain out of John at that. He looked to Castiel like he was _truly_ seeing him for the first time; seeing in him a different light, Mary’s comparison helping to see something in the former angel that he wouldn’t _let_ himself see.

“You love my son?”

Castiel shouldn’t have to grace such a stupid question with an answer, but he does. “More than you could ever know. And I’ll never _stop_ loving him. Dean Winchester _is_ my soul.”

John’s gaze searched over him one more time before he finally nodded his head in what Castiel could only assume was the best form of acceptance that he would ever get from John – not that he cares for it either way. “Can’t say you’re what I envisioned my son ending up with, but… he found someone who makes him happy, so…”

Castiel chose to ignore the ‘ _what_ ’ part of John’s sentence, accepting Mary’s apologetic frown with an understanding smile as John plops back down onto his seat. It’s only as Castiel turns away from the table that he hears them enter a heated, whispered argument that Castiel only feels _slightly_ guilty about – and that’s only on Mary’s behalf.

There are six people huddled around the wooden bar that Castiel heads for - two of them with drinks in their hands and engaged in light conversation with the other three behind the bar. Castiel’s tense posture relaxes as he’s met with the motherly smile of the Roadhouse’s owners, taking a seat on the stool she gestures him for him to sit on

“Good to see you, son,” Is how Bobby Singer greets him for the first time in five years, along with a single solid pat to the back that has Castiel jolting forward in his seat. “At least you got to walk into heaven this time instead of sliding in on your back.”

Castiel ducked his head with quiet laughter, glancing back up when a bottle of cold beer is plonked down on the bar in front of him.

“Oh, that’s okay-,”

“Don’t make me force it down you, Castiel,” Ellen warned him, “You’re in Heaven – you can have _one_ drink at least.”

Castiel listened to the warning tone Ellen was sending his way, picking up the bottle of beer from the bartop and taking a swig of the bitter liquid, savoring the way the carbonated bubbles tickled his mouth.

“What happened to the guy who could down five shots of whiskey like it was nothing?” Jo slid up to her mother’s side behind the bar, tempted to go and grab a bottle behind her to see if Castiel could still pull such a feat.

“ _Really?”_ Comes a sultry voice from beside Bobby. “Shame I never got to saw that – then again, I didn’t get to see much of _anything_ after I got a glimpse of you.”

Castiel practically shrinks into his seat at Pamela’s words, wincing at the memories that flooded back. “Ah, yes, that… um…”

Pamela’s pearls of laughter broke through Castiel’s embarrassed stammers. “Relax, angel. You gave me fair warning, but I kept poking.” Pamela leaned past Bobby, sticking out a hand for Castiel to shake. “Nice to finally get a good look at ‘ya without seeing nothing but burning white light. Gotta say… I get why Dean wants to tap that.”

“Oh, um… thank you?”

“Technically, that compliment is for me!” Jimmy calls over from his own table, getting a disappointed smack to the arm from his wife next to him.

“Still can’t believe Dean finally made a move,” Jo brings Cas’s attention back to the patrons at the bar. “You guys were the big gossip circulating around the angel radio that Ash hooked us up to,” Jo jabs a thumb towards the mullet-wearing man sat at the end of the bar, tapping away at the keyboard on his laptop with one hand whilst giving Castiel a wave in greeting with the other.

“Sup, man,” Ash looks up from his laptop long enough to take in the sight of Castiel for the first time.

“You… managed to access Heaven’s radio?” Castiel asked.

“Yep,” Ash answered proudly. “Didn’t take me long to tap into Heaven’s systems. At first, it was only radio and then… I had eyes on footage of you guys. Picture ain't great, but… better than just a bunch of angels blabbering away. And, uh… let's just say there aren’t too many angels that can _talk_ nowadays, you get me?”

“But… how did you get any information from angel radio? My siblings would only transfer in Enochian to one another.”

“Balit qaa ol om Enochian,” Ash replies simply with a knowing smile before his attention is diverted back to the computer in front of him. “Oh, and the stuff you were saying to Dean in that beach dream? Raunchy stuff, dude.”

His embarrassment at being heard aside, _that_ was something that Castiel didn’t understand; how exactly was it that they had managed to get access to Dean’s _dreams?_ Multiple people had now told him they had seen his and Dean’s… _change_ in relationship, but he wasn’t exactly sure _how._

“How did you see that?” Castiel doesn’t just direct the question at Ash, eyes flickering between those at the bar. “- _All of you_ , in fact.”

“We saw everything go down through _your_ eyes, dude,” Ash answered for them. “Your grace sort of acts like a, uh… an _Enochian broadcast_. I just had to find the right channel to tune into and bam; angel vision up on display.”

“We weren’t watching _all_ the time if that makes your privacy feel any less violated,” Jo adds.

“It was mostly to check up and see what ya idjits were getting up to,” Bobby said, accepting the fresh beer that Ellen passed over to him. “Make sure you weren’t getting involved in _another_ apocalypse.”

“Nice surprise to see the only big news was you and Dean deciding to pull your heads out of your assess,” Jo tells him with a grin, receiving a smack to the back of her head from the towel in her mother’s hand.

“Joanna Beth!” Ellen pulled out the full name. “There was a million different ways you could have said that.”

“I know – I went the direct route,” Jo replied, rubbing at the sore spot on the back of her head.

“What my daughter _means_ to say…” Ellen says with a side glance at the woman in question. “Is that the last time we met, you were…”

“A dick?” Castiel offers. “I’ve been called that in the past.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Ellen said. “You were… starting to come into yourself a little more. Dean was starting to bring you out of whatever shell angel life had forced you into, and we were only just starting to get to know you. Then… well, the Hell Hounds happened, and then ten years later I can barely recognize the angel I once met.”

“I’m not sure if you mean that a compliment, or an insult,” Castiel admits.

“Oh, it’s a compliment,” Ellen assures him. “You’ve changed for the better, Castiel. It’s not that we’re surprised Dean fell for you - we’re surprised how _long_ it took.”

Ellen’s eyes glance over to someone behind him, and Castiel glances over his shoulder to see Jimmy approaching the bar from his table. Although, instead of sitting down on an empty stool, he stands next to Castiel, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but… it’s time.”

“Damn, time really does fly by in Heaven,” Bobby curses, sliding the half-drunken beer out of Castiel’s hand and giving him another encouraging pat on the back. “It was good seeing you again, Castiel.”

Castiel was… still rather unsure what exactly was going on. Everyone else at the bar seemed to know, which was frustrating in of itself, and Castiel could only switch his confused frown from the hand on his shoulder to the arm’s owner. “It’s time for _what?_ ”

“You’ll see,” Jimmy answers unhelpfully, gesturing with a flick of his head for Castiel to stand and follow.

Seeing as there’s not much else for him to do but follow the instructions given to him, Castiel finds himself standing up from the bar, casting one last look to past friends. They all give him reassuring smiles as he follows Jimmy – even getting an encouraging nod from John, much to Cas’s bewilderment. Jimmy leads him towards the kitchen of the Roadhouse, leading him through past the well-loved ovens, stoves, and cooking utensils before arriving at the back door to the Roadhouse, leading to an outside Castiel has never seen.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again,” Are Jimmy’s final parting words, gesturing with an open hand towards the door before he’s heading back towards the warm-sounding conversation within the bar. Castiel glances over his back to watch him go, a part of him drawn back to the bar, back to the people he knows.

But there’s something else on the other side of that door. Something else that’s calling to him, its pull much stronger than the Roadhouse. Without much of a second thought, Castiel pushes down on the bar across the heavy metal door, swinging it open and stepping out into the comfortably cool afternoon’s air.

* * *

It felt like a bomb had gone off.

It might as well have. The explosion of Cas’s grace – or… Cas himself, Sam supposed – had left them in this state of… numbness. For the first ten minutes or so, ten _agonizing_ minutes, Sam could only stand shocked still where he was, watching as his brother cradles Cas in his laps, calling for him to come back.

After the bargaining came the screams.

That’s the only word he had for them, really. These gut-wrenching, pain-filled cries as the reality of the situation begun to sink in for his older brother. Sam had tried to step around the table in front of him, walk over to his brother, and…

And do _what?_ What could he possibly do to make this situation any better? Cas was _gone,_ and nothing he could say or do would help to ease his brother’s grief. He had only made it around the table when he caught sight of Castiel’s face resting on Dean’s lap, and that was as far as he could go. He slid down onto the floor, resting his head against the table leg behind him, and just… _stared._ Even when Eileen came around to his side; when she had dropped down next to him, rest her head on his shoulder, and held his hand tightly in her own… he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his brother and his once best friend.

Sam didn’t think there would be anything worst than the screams. The non-stop sobs that had his older brother gasping for air. But, as it turns out, the silence was the worst. When the tears stopped flowing and ran dry, his brother's back no longer shaking with his ragged breaths, there was nothing but silence and stillness. Dean still had Cas in his lap – and Sam didn’t dare try to move Cas from him.

He knew they would have to, eventually. Dean couldn’t stay like this forever… neither of them could. Eventually, Sam would have to pry Dean off of Cas. He would have to drag him, ~~kicking and~~ screaming away from Cas’s body whilst Eileen wrapped him up – because if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think he could do this all over again.

Wrap up Cas, _again._ Build a pyre for him, _again._ Say their goodbyes as they watch his body go up in flames, _again._

He was tired of losing friends. He thought it would be over by now, that _this_ time would be different.

Wherever the hell Chuck ended up, Sam knows he’s laughing at them right now.

Somehow, from beyond the grave…

The bastard still won.

* * *

The sight that greets Castiel as he steps out from the Roadhouse is confusing, to say the least. The back of the Roadhouse should have been nothing more than an empty field and a wall of trees. Instead, Castiel takes in the beauty of the Washington mountains, sat pretty in the distance and reflected in the calm surface of the lake stretched out in front of him. Just off the shore of the lake is a cabin that Castiel is very familiar with, having once rented it not too many years ago.

It’s only then that Castiel realizes how strangely quiet it had become; gone was the quiet laughter and muted conversations of the Roadhouse, replaced by the water’s edge gently lapping at the shore and the birds singing as they flew overhead. When Castiel turns around, he’s met with empty space where the Roadhouse had once been.

“It was a beautiful spot, wasn’t it?”

Castiel freezes in place at the voice he hears behind him.

“Tainted by death, but still… beautiful.”

He’s not too sure how he manages to spin around on such shaky legs, but he does. And when he does, he’s met with the calming, grateful smiles of Kelly, sat on a wooden bench that seemed to have been created out of thin air.

“Hello, Castiel,” Kelly greets him, the tears shining in her eyes as she looks up to her son’s father-figure the same as the ones in Castiel’s. There’s nothing he can even say before Kelly has her arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. “You did it, Cas… You really did it. Jack, he’s-,”

“I know,” Castiel tells her – and he _really_ does know. Pride didn’t even fit the description of what Cas felt for how far Jack had come.

Kelly untangles her arms from around his neck, quickly wiping the tears off her face as she does. “You’ve given so much for him, I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Castiel assured her.

“That’s not true,” Kelly said with a shake of her head. “You stuck by him through _everything._ Even in the times you thought you would lose your friends, your family…”

“Because I knew it would all work out in the end. No matter what Chuck threw our way… I believed in the vision Jack showed me.”

The puff of wings behind him is a sound he hasn’t heard in quite some time. And, judging by the loving smile that instantly graced Kelly's face, he knew exactly who it was that was stood behind him.

Castiel gave himself a few seconds to take in the beaming smile that always seemed to be plastered on Jacks face before he's wrapping the boy up tight in his arms, letting out a breath of relief as Jacks's arms squeeze him just as tight; part of him having wondered if the acquisition of God’s powers may have altered him somewhat.

It seemed he had nothing to worry about.

Kelly smiled sweetly at the two’s reunion, looking over to Jack as she asks, “It’s time, huh?”

“Time for what?” Castiel asked the two of them, the question eerily similar to Jimmy’s cryptic wording back in the Roadhouse.

“I wanted to talk to you for a bit, if you don’t mind. Just me and you,” Jack answered. Kelly stepped forward, giving Castiel’s hand one big squeeze of goodbye before she was heading back towards the cabin, disappearing through its door and out of sight.

Jack began walking towards the shoreline of the lake, keeping his pace slow as he waits for Cas to begin following him. The two walk side by side along the edge of the lake, moving under the cover of the dense forest that surrounded the cabin. It really _was_ a beautiful place – more beautiful than the other places he’s died in, anyway.

“Does your mother live here now? In Heaven?” Castiel asks Jack as they walk, enjoying the leisurely pace they were set in.

“She does,” Jack confirms. “I come and visit her here when I can, which… isn’t often.”

“…Why isn’t it often?”

The smile Jack gives him in return looks much too old for the boy wearing it. “Being God has its responsibilities. I’ve been trying, but… it's been hard work.”

“I can imagine,” Castiel glances around the world they were in – not _really_ a world, yet also more real than Heaven ever was. “Jack, what you've done here…”

“Do you like it?” Jack asked brightly, still searching for the approval of those he looks up to despite now being _God._ “I always thought the old Heaven seemed… _lonely_. When I was in _my_ heaven, I had you, and Sam, and Dean, but… I could always tell something was off. It wasn’t the _real_ you.”

“So you decided to break down Heaven's walls?”

“It was a bit more complicated than that, but…” Jack seems almost frustrated for a moment – not at Castiel, no, but at Chuck's design of Heaven. “Heaven is _filled_ with people; it didn’t seem right that people were left only with their soul mates - if they're lucky enough to have them – and only _illusions_ of the people they loved just as much when they were alive.”

“I… I suppose I didn’t consider it in that way,” Castiel confessed. “The souls in Heaven seemed happy. Content.”

“I think they were. But… that doesn’t mean Heaven couldn’t be made _better._ ”

“So this is what you’ve been working on this whole time?” Castiel asks, gesturing to the beautiful scenery they were walking in. “Opening up Heaven?”

“Partly, yes,” Jack leads Castiel over to a small clearing in the forest where the lake is practically lapping at the trees that sit by the shore’s edge, giving them a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance. “I’ve been doing other work too, though.”

Castiel reaches Jack's side, staring out at the view in front of him. “On Earth?”

“Not our Earth,” Jack answers. “I will, eventually. But, for now, this Earth is at least intact. Sustainable. But… there’s all those other Earth’s out there. The other universes that Chuck destroyed.”

“You’re… rebuilding them?”

“It’s… kind of draining,” Jack admits, although the captivating smile on his face does not give away the tiredness he must be feeling. “Amara’s been helping me.”

That was news to Castiel. “She has?”

“She was quiet at first. Despite everything Chuck had done, I think she still loved him. Still _does_ love him. She started opening up once I got to work on the other Universes, giving what recommendations she can, what she thinks Chuck would have done; I’m trying to recreate them as best as I could in his image.”

“What for?”

“So that the people of those Earth’s come back to the world they remember,” Jack turns away from the mountain view, facing Cas. “Don’t they deserve the same as the people on _this_ Earth? Shouldn’t they be able to return to the homes they know, the families they know?”

Jack’s brow furrows when, for a while after the end of his sentence, Cas is just looking down at him with this small, subtle smile that only begins to display the warmth his eyes are holding towards the boy – this _God –_ he still considers to be his own.

“What?” Jack asks, voice rising in pitch in what was a mix of both amusement and wonder.

“Nothing, just…” Castiel trails off, placing a heavy hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m _so_ proud of you… All of us are. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Jack said. His face shifted then, the gentle smile on his face sliding away, his eyes dripping down to his feet as he takes in a deep breath of fresh mountain air. “Cas, there’s… there’s a reason I needed to talk to you.”

Castiel tries to catch Jack’s gaze, but the Nephilim’s eyes were firmly fixed on the ground, his sneakers kicking up small twigs as he gouges a small hole into the dirt. “Jack?”

“I need you to know that I wasn’t ignoring you,” Jack says, bending down to pick up one of the tiny pieces of wood he had kicked up. “Any of you. I knew what was happening. With you, and with Dean. His accident and then… what’s been happening to you.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that. It was something he already knew – well, maybe not _knew,_ but… assumed, he supposed.

“I wanted to step in,” Jack continues, twirling around the twig that he had pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Every day, I wanted to leave my work and just… fix everything. I wanted to pull you out when you were in the Empty. I wanted to heal the hole in Dean’s back when he saw dying on that pole. I wanted to heal his severed spine after, re-create your vessel and place you back inside.”

Even though he wasn’t sure if he even _wanted_ to hear the answer, Castiel had to ask. “Why didn’t you?”

Jack releases the twig from between his fingers, finally lifting his gaze back up to meet Castiel’s. “The Empty is… not happy. I _tried_ to get you back, Cas. When Chuck brought back my father, the Empty… It… It made threats.”

“What kind of threats?”

“The world-ending kind of ones,” Jack answers somberly. “It told Chuck that, if he tried to take a creature from the Empty… it would storm across Earth and destroy all those in its wake so that it could finally sleep. No one left to wake it up. Chuck, he… he just _laughed._ Told the Empty to ‘go ahead’, grabbed my father, and was just… gone.”

“That seems risky for Chuck… I would have thought he’d worry about the Empty interfering with his script?”

“I think it was too late for him to care at that point,” Jack replied. “All that was left was to kill you, me, Sam, and Dean. You were… you were already gone at that point, and after Chuck killed the rest of us…”

“Chuck would have wiped out Earth anyway…”

Jack nodded. “Chuck had already killed everyone on Earth. He just… didn’t care anymore. When the Empty made the same threat to me, I just…”

Jack looked away then, tears of frustration brimming in his eyes. “It tore me apart, Cas. I wanted you back, I just… I wanted to be selfish. But I couldn’t doom the world like that… doom Dean and Sam like that, and… I had to _leave_ you… I _left_ you…”

“It’s okay…” Cas stepped forward, placing both hands on Jack’s shoulders and giving them a comforting squeeze. “You did exactly what you were supposed to. If that would have been the price of bringing me back, then it wouldn’t have been worth it,”

Jack shook his head fervently. “It _would_ have been worth it. _You_ would have been worth it, Cas. But it wouldn’t have been right… I wouldn’t be a very good God if I wiped out Earth my first day.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Cas agreed with a breathy chuckle.

“It wasn’t until I saw what happened to Dean, saw you rip yourself out of the Empty that I realized… I didn’t need to do anything. I didn’t intervene because… I needed you to _see._ ”

“See… what?”

“What you’ve always refused to accept,” Jack answered. “Dean and Sam – they tried _so hard_ to bring you back, didn’t they?”

Castiel could only frown at that, trying to figure out what Jack was trying to get across. “Yes, they did.”

“And when they found out your grace was diminishing, that you would eventually lose your powers and become human; when they found out that you could no longer heal, no longer provide your powers to then… they still tried everything they could to bring you back. Everything they did … was for _you_ , Cas. Not for what you can do for them, but because they love _you. That’s_ what I needed you to see, Cas. We don’t love you for your powers. Me, Sam, Dean, Eileen, and everyone that knows you loves you because you’re _you.”_

It was only once the breeze blew through the trees and into their little clearing that Cas could feel the wetness on his face, a few stray tears having escaped his eyes and slipped down his cheeks without him even noticing.

“I tried to help where I could,” Jack continued, his admission sounding almost guilty, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I… I wasn’t sure whether to bring back Eileen, at first. She had already been dead before, and I… I wasn’t sure whether she would have wanted to rest in Heaven or be returned, but then… then I saw how sad Sam was and… I couldn’t take them away from each other.”

“I think you made the right choice,” Cas tells him, still wiping away the tears that were clung to his face. “And my trench-coat? Was that you as well?”

“And the spell,” Jack said with a slight smile. “I was getting worried you guys weren’t going to find it by yourselves so I, um… I kind of ‘placed’ it where Eileen would take notice.”

Cas let out another breathy laugh at that. Staring out to the mountains, he stepped forward towards the lake, crouching down by the shore and running his fingers through the shore’s sand. It was clumpy, sticking to his hand in a mixture of lake-bed soil and grains wettened by the murky water. It was nothing like the soft sands of Dean’s…

The pain’s too much. He can’t think about him. Can’t think about the suffering he knows Dean is going through.

“So… what now?” Castiel asks Jack, glancing over his shoulder to where Jack was stood, watching him.

“That’s up to you.”

Castiel blinked up at Jack in surprise, slowly standing back up from his crouch as he takes in Jack’s pleased smile. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to give you the option to choose,” Jack continues. “I know that, for most of your life… all you’ve ever done is follow orders, Cas. Then, once you broke free and chose to live a life of free will… the choices you made still weren’t _entirely_ your own. Every single choice you’ve made… none of them were ever _truly_ for yourself, were they? They were always for the greater good. For someone’s else behalf. Making a deal to save my life… _sacrificing_ yourself to keep Dean safe…”

“They were still choices I wanted to make, Jack.”

“Choices that cost you too much,” Jack argues back. “Now, for once… I want you to choose for _you_ , Cas. Not because you think it’s best for me, or for Dean, or for anyone else. For _you.”_

Castiel could hear his own blood rushing through his ears, his heart up in his throat as it pounded relentlessly. These weren’t nerves. They were… _anticipation. Hope._

“If you want to… you can finally rest. You can stay here, in Heaven. Live in peace, with no pain and no worries, surrounded by those you love. And… if you wanted to, you could help me.”

“Help you? With… rebuilding Heaven?”

“And everything else,” Jack confirmed. “You would have your grace back, of course. It would be nice to have you with me as I rebuild all that Chuck has destroyed.”

Castiel nodded slowly, letting Jack’s offer mill about in his mind. If there was one thing life on Earth had taught him… it was that he liked to _help_ in any way he could. If there was a way for him to make life better for the less unfortunate, to correct the damage his father had inflicted upon billions upon billions of innocents…

It felt like what he was made for.

“And… what’s the other option?”

Jack answered Cas’s question by raising a hand up and tapping his fingers to Cas’s forehead. Castiel felt that familiar rush of the Universe rushing past him as the two moved at immeasurable speeds in the blink of an eye.

The sight that greets him upon landing is one he never wants to see.

 _“…Dean_?” Castiel knows Dean won’t be able to hear him, but he can’t stop himself from uttering his name at the sight of Dean collapsed on the floor of the bunker, cradling him in his lap as his body shakes with silent sobs that had long since dried out. Though they no longer exist, Cas can feel his back muscles twitch as if his wings were still there, instinctively trying to wrap themselves around the grieving body of the man he loves.

“He’ll be okay,” Jack’s words almost escape Cas’s notice, so focused on the heart-broken figure of Dean Winchester. “He won’t be at first, and it won’t be easy, but he’ll heal. Your death will always leave a part of him empty, but… he will carry on, Cas. Dean will live out the rest of his life, and he will one day pass and reunite with you in Heaven.”

Cas barely registers as Jack steps up to his side, barely feels the steady weight of Jack’s palm pressed soothingly into his back. “ _I’ll_ be okay too, Cas. Okay? Don’t choose to come up to Heaven and help me if you feel like it’s what’s right, or that you’re worried I’ll need you. I can do this, okay? I can. _All_ of us will be okay. You choose for _you,_ Cas.”

Castiel dragged his tear-filled eyes away from Dean’s form, meeting Jack’s understanding ones. There was no judgment behind Jack’s eyes, no secret hope that he would choose to return to Heaven and continue his work for Heaven.

The truth was that, the second he laid eyes on Dean, he knew what his choice was going to be.

Jack knew, too.

“Dean,” Castiel answered in a hoarse whisper, and the knowing look on Jack’s face grew all the more stronger. “What I want… it’s always been Dean.”

It was a relief to see the beaming smile that spread across Jack's face at his answer. There was no hint of disappointment on his face, only genuine happiness that Castiel has chosen his _own_ happiness. For once, Castiel had gone for what _he_ wants.

“Live a long, happy life Cas,” Jack said what he intended to be his parting words, raising his hand once more to tap his fingers against Castiel's head.

Before he could so, Cas caught Jack’s hand midair and pulled him into what he hoped wouldn’t be one last hug between father and son, holding him tight as he buried his head into Jack’s shoulder. “Will… Will I see you again?”

Jack pulled away from Castiel's embrace, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “I'll be around, Cas.”

Castiel shifted his gaze over to Dean, still collapsed on the floor staring numbly at his body, when an idea struck him. “Wait… what about Dean?”

“What about him?”

“His spine…” Castiel answered, turning on the begging eyes that Dean once told him he's sure he learned from Sam. “You've already done so much for us, but… do you think you could heal him?”

Jack only smiled at that, an odd reaction to Castiel's request, and then his last words were left to echo around Cas's head as his fingers once again brushed against his forehead and plunged the world into darkness.

“There's nothing for me to heal, Cas. You’ve already taken care of that.”

* * *

Dean wasn’t sure how long he'd been sat on the floor now. Did it even matter how long? And why should he care?

Cas was gone.

That's all his mind could produce. The only thoughts his treacherous brain graced him with. _Cas is dead. Cas is dead. Cas is dead. Cas is dead._

Over and over again, on a loop. He doesn’t even feel the deep aching pain of his loss anymore. There’s _nothing._ His body has just… shut off. No more emotions. No more _caring_ about _anything_.

Cas was dead. That's all there was.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is hesitant, unsure. Dean can barely hear it. Sam had, eventually, managed to get his feet under him. He had walked over to Dean, but wasn’t stood by his side. There was a few awkward meters of space between them, an invisible line that Sam couldn’t bring himself to cross.

Dean knew what Sam's next words were going to be before Sam said them. “Dean, we need to…”

It was as far as Sam could get. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought Dean was dead, too. His face was just… _blank_. Unmoving as be stared down at Cas's still form. Sam braves one look at Castiel's face cradled on Dean's lap, sees the pale color of skin without a supply of blood, sees the closed eyes of his best friend he'll never get to see again and-

“Sam?” Eileen's voice is like an anchor, bringing him back to reality.

Sam clears his throat, looking away and up to the ceiling to try and blink away the tears that were burning in the corner of his eyes. “I can't, I-,”

“Yes, we can.”

Sam looks down at Dean in surprise. He was still just as frozen in place, face still just as empty, and for a moment Sam wondered if he had actually heard Dean speak at all.

“We'll do it for him,” Dean croaked out, raising a hand that wouldn’t stop trembling and placing it down on Cas's chest. “We can’t give him much, but… the least we can do is give him a proper fucking goodbye this time.”

Sam miraculously managed to crouch down next to his brother without his legs giving away, placing his hand atop his brother’s back. “Yeah… yeah, we can uh… I'll go and see what we have to wrap him up in. Maybe… maybe the sheets from his bed? Or we could-"

Dean was listening to Sam anymore. Because there, underneath his hand, he could feel Cas's heart beating steadily in his chest. It had started out of nowhere, one big ‘thump’ that he put down to his grief-riddled mind. The second one he thought that perhaps the injury to his spine had worsened when he fell from his chair, and was starting to get false sensations in his hands.

But then the third pump of Cas's heart came. Then the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, and the back of Dean's head nearly collided with Sam’s face hovering over his shoulder as his head reared back.

“Sam, there's a pulse.”

“He… _what?!”_ Sam exclaimed. He desperately wanted to believe his brother, but… “Are you sure?”

“Am I-,” Dean huffed in irritation, reaching around to grab his brothers’ hand and place it against Cas's neck.

Sam’s furrowed brow straightened out to an expression of slack-jawed dumbfounded as he felt the rapid flutter of Cas's pulse against his fingertips. “Oh my God… Oh my _God,_ he's alive!”

Eileen dropped down on her knees next to them, picking up on their sudden fanatic movements but unable to hear or read the brother's panicked words. “What?! What is it?!”

“Cas is alive,” Sam told her breathlessly as Dean bent over to place an ear against Cas's chest, able to hear the rapid thuds of his heartbeat. Except… Cas's chest didn’t move under his head.

“Sam, he’s not breathing,” Dean got out in a panic, framing the sides of Cas's face with his hands. “Cas? Cas, can you hear me? C'mon man, I need you to _say something.”_

Dean whipped his head back around to face Sam and Eileen. “What the hell do we do? Do we give him CPR?”

“I-I- I don’t know,” Sam blurted out. “His heart is beating fine, right? Is there something blocking his airway or-,”

Then it happened. Cas's chest inflated with one big inhale of air, catching all three of their attention just in time to see his eyes snap open, greeted by crystal blue eyes that never seemed quite so human in their dazed and panicked blown-out appearance.

As it turns out, having your lungs inflate for the first time as you take your first breath is quite uncomfortable. Cas's lungs were racked with harsh-sounding coughs as they tried to adjust to the sudden change. Dean jumped into action and helped pull him up into a sitting position, Dean's hand tight around his arm like he might drop back to the floor in a lifeless heap if he let go.

“Cas?” Dean leans his head down as Cas folds over himself, trying to catch his breath after his coughing fit. “You okay?”

Castiel pulled himself back up, placing a hand on his chest as he took another deep breath in, this one – thankfully – not sending him into another round of coughs. “I… I think so.”

Castiel’s eyes swiveled around to meet Dean’s, then over to Sam and Eileen’s bewildered faces, then settled back on Dean again. Dean's eyes were about as wide as they can go, watching Cas warily both in fear that Cas might drop down dead again and second, and that this could all be one cruel trick… Another lazy laugh from Chuck perhaps, some asshole demon jumping into the free body like Belphagor did with Jack, hiding its true identity until the moment it-

“Hello, Dean.”

Nope, never mind. That was his angel, alright.

“Hello-?” Dean cuts himself off with a huff of laughter that sounded more like a sob of relief than anything, pulling Cas into him and grabbing hold of the trench-coat wrapped around him so tightly that it seemed moments away from ripping.

“You're alive… Oh, you’re alive, you're okay… You're _here_ …”

“I’m okay,” Castiel speaks softly into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“You've gotta stop dying on me, Cas,” Dean tried to joke, but the tears brimming his eyes gave away the illusion of a care-free attitude. “I don’t know how much more of you dying I can handle.”

“I'll promise if you promise,” Cas replies, and that at the very least gets a laugh out of Dean.

“Hey-,” Is all Sam says before he’s moving towards Cas, wrapping him up in one of his signature bear-hugs at a very awkward angle, considering Castiel was still mostly seated on Dean’s lap. “You have no idea how good it is to see you, man.”

“I can assure you, the feeling is mutual,” Castiel replies, releasing his grip on Sam only to have his arms filled seconds later by Eileen, who squeezed up beside Sam to get her own hug in.

“Please don’t do that again,” Eileen said, pushing away from the hug to give Castiel a stern look. “I don’t know how you guys handle this…”

“We don’t,” Dean answers. “We make stupid deals that get us or the world into trouble.”

“Speaking of…” Sam mumbled, the change on his face from relief to an analyzing and calculating look aimed at Castiel making Dean’s stomach drop. “Cas… how is it that you’re here? You were dead. For a _while._ Then… you were alive again. Did you… did you make another deal with the Empty?”

“I didn’t even go to the Empty,” Castiel answered, one of those rare gummy smiles breaking out across his face. “It was _Jack._ ”

“Jack?” Dean said. “Jack saved you?”

“He gave me a choice,” Cas replied. “I didn’t go to the Empty, because… Jack had permitted me entry into Heaven, instead. When my grace was destroyed during the spell, there was a short time that I was human. And in that time… Jack had gifted me a soul.”

“Huh… well I’ll be damned,” Dean mumbled under his breath. “All this time, huh? He was helping us the whole time?”

“Where he could, yes,” Castiel said. “Dean, Sam… I wish you could have seen him. He’s… he’s everything Chuck should have been. He’s still _him,_ he’s still the boy we knew, and… he cares _so_ much. All he wants is to make the world a better place. The world, the other worlds, Heaven… he’s already done so much work.”

“Way to go, kid,” Dean spoke up towards the ceiling, voice beaming with pride. He turned his proud smile back down to Cas, glancing down from the tender smile Cas was giving him in return to Cas’s current choice of wardrobe – or, more accurately, the lack thereof. “C’mon, Cas. Let’s, uh… let’s go get you some clothes.”

“Oh,” Cas said in surprise, looking down at himself as if he hadn’t realized he had been sat here stark naked for the past few minutes. “Yes, that would probably be for the best…”

“I think I got some spare sweats you could borrow,” Dean mumbles as he pushes himself up to his feet, bending down to offer a hand to Cas.

Cas doesn’t take his hand. He remains seated on the floor, eyes wide as they can go and mouth dropped open nearly to the floor. Dean frowns at the astonished look Cas was giving him, glancing over to Sam and Eileen only to find they two were staring bug-eyed at him.

“What?” Dean asked. “Why are you all-,”

He was standing.

Holy _Fuck,_ he was _standing!_

How the _hell_ had it taken him this long to realize? How the _hell_ had he not realized that he was able to feel the warm weight of Castiel on his lap? He had gotten back up to his feet without a second thought, so focused on helping Cas up that it just… hadn’t occurred to him that it was something he shouldn’t be able to do anymore.

“Dean, your arm-,” Sam manages to get out through his mask of shock, pointing to Dean’s arm. “It’s… it’s glowing.”

Dean looks down to his left shoulder where Sam was pointing, already able to see the faint blue glow under the sleeve of his shirt. Dean makes quick work of pushing the sleeve up, seeing the last few glowing pulses of Cas’s handprint on his arm before it reverted back to its usual faint red color.

“You’ve already taken care of it…” Castiel mumbles to himself, the realization hitting him like a bag of bricks. “My grace…”

Castiel’s eyes snap to the mark on Dean’s arm, jumping up to his wobbly feet and very nearly falling straight back down again. Dean shoots out an arm to catch Cas before he can fall, wrapping his hands around Cas’s biceps to steady him in place.

“Cas… how am I standing?” Dean asks.

“My grace,” Castiel repeats himself. “I asked Jack if he could heal you, Dean. But he told me there was nothing for him to heal, and that… that _I_ had already healed you. I just… I hadn’t even realized I had done it.”

“But… how?” Sam asks. “I thought you used the last of your grace in the transfer over to your body?”

“I did,” Castiel confirms. “You have to remember that Grace is nothing but pure _energy_. _Volatile_ energy. When the spell failed, the last of my grace, _myself_ , I… there was a release of power. An explosion of my grace. I think that when this occurred…”

Castiel trailed off, tearing his gaze away from the expectant faces around him back to the scar of his handprint on Dean’s shoulder. “The sudden surge of my grace caused a reaction within the ebb of grace inside the mark. It would have momentarily powered up the last of my grace, and…”

“And it healed me…” Dean finished what Cas was leading to. He looked from the mark on his shoulder over to Cas, a sharp burst of delirious laughter escaping him as he pulled Cas into what felt like the hundredth hug of that evening -not that he was complaining. “Remind me to tell you how amazing you are, Cas. Every day if you have to. I don’t say it enough, you magnificent bastard.”

Cas’s light chuckles next to his ear only made Dean’s smile grow wider. Cas pulled away from their embrace, and then right there, his soft eyes looking to Dean like everything had fallen into place was when it sunk in for Dean.

Cas was _alive_. Right here in front of him, alive and warm under his hands. His future was back, looking right at him, and for once in his damned life it felt like everything was going to be _okay._

He didn’t care that Eileen and Sammy were right there next to them, didn’t care if they knew or not. He was done with the hiding, the pretending, the worry over what others would think of him. All that mattered was he had Cas back, the had another chance to do this _right._

So, right in front of his brother, he kisses Cas for all he's worth. He kisses him like it might be the last time he’d ever get the privilege, like one of them were going to die at any second – which, with them, is a _very_ real possibility.

“That was real…” Dean whispers against Castiel’s lips. “Not a dream… not in my head… you’re _real._ ”

“I’m real,” Castiel mimicked Dean’s words. “And you kissed me.”

“And I kissed you,” Dean agrees, his breathy laughter brushing across Castiel’s face. “Uh… I think we might have an audience.”

Dean peeled himself away from Cas, glancing anxiously over to his brother. Not that he had anything to worry about, of course. Sam didn’t even blink at the two of them, too wrapped up in the euphoria and relief of getting his best friend back that he could only stand back with Eileen, watching their well-earned reunion with a smile of pure relief.

Eileen nudges Sam’s arm, gesturing to the two in front of them. “How about a new bet?”

Sam grins down at her, making sure Dean and Cas were otherwise distracted; not that it took long -the two always seemed to have their attention drawn to one another – before signing, “Is that even a question? What you got?”

“I’d give it six months before we’re stood at their wedding.”

Sam takes the bet.

He gives it three months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, you didn't REALLY think I'd do that to you guys, did you? Yes, I could have gone the ultra angsty route. I could have left Cas dead, left Dean in that wheelchair for the rest of his life and that would be that. 
> 
> Would it be more 'realistic' to the Supernatural style of writing? Yes. But this is fanfiction! This is a place to escape, a place where we get to share our love for these characters, and share our love of THEIR love! So once, just this once... how about there's something happy for our favorite hunter and angel couple?
> 
> If I've got my planning right... there's only one chapter left. I can't quite believe it. One last upload after this and... that's it. Guess I better put all my effort into this last one for a great send off, huh?


	14. One Last Chapter: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel knew there was nothing he could say to help alleviate Dean’s guilt. This was just something he was going to have to feel. So, instead, he reached out across the table, pulling out one of Dean’s crossed arms from under him and intertwining his fingers with Deans. “We can’t change the past, Dean.”
> 
> Dean just barely managed to pull the side of his mouth into a smile, reaching out with his other hand and placing it over their combined ones. “Would probably fix a lot of our problems if we could, huh?”
> 
> “I don’t know about that…” Castiel uttered softly, finding himself falling into the endless shades of forests in Dean’s eyes. “I quite like where we’ve ended up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "One last chapter!" I said... Yeah...
> 
> Basically I, uh, I may have been a bit too confident in my writing abilities? And severely undercalculated how long it would take to write out all that I had planned... 
> 
> So... it's gonna be the last chapter: part one and part two. Y'know, like all good books into movies do. (Seriously though, if I tried stuffing it all into one chapter it wouldn't be out till next Thursday at the earliest and would be around 20,000+ words long, so... two parts!)

* * *

They didn’t get married in three months. So, Sam lost his bet, much to a smug Eileen’s delight.

But then they didn’t get married in six months, either. So Eileen basically handed back the twenty dollars Sam had given her three months prior.

But there was a reason they didn’t get married in that time.

It was because Dean had a plan.

It was a four-step plan, and Dean had a particular date in mind for one of the steps.

Step one he achieved only after a few weeks.

Cas was sat at the kitchen table that Saturday morning, munching blearily on a bowl of ‘Krunch Cookie Krunch’ and glaring out at the world like it personally offended him – Cas was not a morning person, as they quickly found out – when Dean walked into the kitchen and slapped the paper contract in his hand down on the table in front of Cas. Poor Cas startled so hard that he nearly flung a spoonful of milk and soggy cereal across the room, eyes wide awake now that Dean had gifted him a near heart attack at eight in the morning.

“Dean, what on _Earth-,”_

“Step One,” Dean said with a shit-eating grin, gesturing at the paper he had just put down.

“Step one of… what?” Castiel asked, pushing his half-eaten bowl of cereal away and picking up the piece of paper.

“That’s not for you to know yet,” Dean replied. “Or Sam and Eileen, for that matter. They’ll get to know what step two and step three is before you, though.”

Castiel’s eyes scanned across the paper in his hands, realizing what is it that had Dean looking quite so excited – and also jittery with nerves – as he waited for Cas’s reaction.

“I, uh… I actually went job searching shortly after we took down Chuck,” Dean tells him. “This was the first thing I found that seemed… _possible_. It’s construction work, here in Kansas. The guy said they rarely ever work out of state, in which cases it’s usually neighboring states anyway. Thought it’d be good to do some _physical_ work, y’know? Not just sitting around at a desk all day; something where I can use my hands and feel like I’m actually _doing_ something. I had the contract ready to sign and everything then, uh… y’know, _everything_ happened.”

Castiel looked up from the contract in disbelief, only able to blink at Dean for a few seconds before his brain caught up to reality. “You… you got a job?”

“Somehow,” Dean said with a sheepish chuckle. “Guy called up to ask if I was still interested in the job offer, as they hadn’t heard from me in a while. Told ‘em I was in an accident and was bed-ridden for a while – which is _partly_ true – but that I was given a bill of clean health and the all-clear to return to work, so… he asked if I still wanted it, and I took it.”

“You got a job,” Castiel repeated once more, staring blankly up at Dean in a way that made Dean wonder if he had misjudged how Castiel would react to the news.

“Um… yes?” Dean offered his answer hesitantly, unsure as to whether he was about to celebrate alongside Cas or suffer through one of their first real arguments as a couple.

It was a relief when Castiel’s face broke out into a huge happy smile – crow’s feet and all – nearly tripping over his chair as he engulfs Dean in a hug that squeezes all the air out of Dean’s lungs.

“I start on Monday, so maybe let’s not suffocate me before then?” Dean wheezes through the hug, returning Cas’s beaming smile as he released Dean from his death grip.

“I can’t believe it…” Castiel mumbled, partly to himself and to Dean. “You got a _job_.”

Dean snorted. “I’m not _that_ useless, y’know.”

“I didn’t mean it like _that._ It’s more… what made you go searching for a job?”

“Gotta do something, right?” Dean answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, if I’m not hunting anymore then I’d just be sitting around all day going crazy.”

Dean could feel Cas go tense under him, the easy-going smile on his face slipping away as Dean’s words replayed in his head. “You… you’re not hunting anymore?”

“No, I’m not. And _that’s_ not something I ever thought I’d say, but… I had been trying to get out before, y’know? Thought I’d ease myself out of hunting, maybe picking up the occasional hunting job every now and then – just had to work up the courage to tell Sammy my plans and get on with it. Then we caught wind of a Vamp nest and… well, you know the rest. I’d like to consider it a ‘wake-up call’. Somehow, I’ve been given a second chance, _and_ I got you as part of it, too? Ain’t no way in Hell I’m risking fucking it all up again to hunt, Cas. This is it. This is our chance - and I’m taking it.”

For a moment, Castiel could only stand there in Dean’s arms, looking up to him in complete and utter shock. Dean Winchester _not_ hunting was more of a pipe dream than anything for him – even just _saying_ it didn’t seem right. _Dean Winchester not hunting?_ It was almost like a paradoxical notion, too unnatural to consider being a part of reality.

And now… Dean had a _job._ And _that_ in itself felt more like an assurance that Dean was telling the truth than anything else. He was trying, _really_ trying to turn a new leaf, to live a life that he _deserves_ to live – one that involves _him._

“You’re giving up hunting… and you got a job…”

“Did I break you, Cas?” Dean asks, waving a hand in front of Castiel’s blank face. “Man, I thought when I told you you’d just say congrats and that’d be that, I wasn’t expecting for you to shut down completely-,”

Castiel cut Dean off by grabbing the sides of his face and pulling forward, leaning up to plant a kiss on Dean’s lips, whose muffled squeak of surprise had Castiel smiling into the kiss. Dean couldn’t help but smile back at the feeling of Castiel’s smile on his lips – which kinda ruined the whole aspect of the kiss – sending the two into hushed giggles of laughter shared between the small space between them.

“Damn, that’s all I gotta do to get a kiss out of you? Get a job? Wait till the paychecks start coming in and you see me filling out my tax forms – won’t be able to get you off of me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at him, but the smile on his face remained - they often came around Dean, and usually stuck around for quite some time. “What about Sam and Eileen?”

“What about them?”

“Have you told them?” Castiel asked, glancing towards the kitchen entrance and into the hallway that leads to their room.

“Nah, not yet. Wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Do, um… do you think Sam will keep hunting without you?”

That gave Dean pause. _Would_ Sam keep hunting without him? Before, he assumed Sam would just kinda _stop_ since he could no longer _physically_ hunt. Now he _can_ hunt again, but is choosing _not_ to… would Sam still hunt?

The only time Sam had ever really gone on hunts without him by his side was during that shole ‘soulless Sammy’ fiasco, and _that_ version of Sam isn’t one he considers to be his _real_ brother. Would it make him unbelievably, nail-bitingly nervous to know his brother was out on a hunt without him, out of view and out of reach, unable to sense whether his little brother is in danger? Abso-fucking-lutely. But, then again… Sam has Eileen. Eileen is just as gifted as a hunter as they are – raised into the life, just as they were.

“I… I honestly don’t know,” Dean answered. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Cas nodded slowly at his answer, glancing back over to Dean’s job contract on the table. “I’m human now…”

“Uh… yeah…?” Dean said, wondering if Cas was trying to word that as a statement or question.

Castiel sank back into his chair, keeping his eyes fixated on the piece of paper in front of him, drumming his fingers against the table. “I should probably get a job, too,” Cas continued, bringing his gaze back up to Dean.

“You don’t _have_ to-,”

“Maybe not, but I _want_ to,” Castiel argued. “It’s a part of being human. Work to earn your keep. I can’t just… _sit around._ I’ve _always_ had something to do, Dean. I suppose I could apply for a position at the Gas N’ Sip just outside of town?”

“ _The Gas N’ Sip_?” Dean asked, unable to hide the judgment in his voice at Cas’s career choice.

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I enjoyed my work, Dean. I was given a list of tasks to do. A routine that was easy to follow. _Comfortable_ , and… predictable.”

“You didn’t seem to _predict_ that I was gonna show up one day,” Dean said with the same satisfied grin he wore on said day, dropping down into the chair opposite Cas.

“That… was a surprise,” Castiel agreed. “After you kicked me out of the bunker without giving me a reason, I assumed my role in Metatron’s plan and causing the angels to fall had irreparably ruined our friendship and would be unlikely to see you again.”

That wiped the smile off of Dean’s face. “Cas…”

“There’s no need to apologize, Dean,” Cas stopped Dean’s apology before it could even begin. “I know better now, of course. You did what you had to do for Sam. I understand.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any less shitty for doing that to you,” Dean mumbled down at the table, leaning forward and crossing his arms atop its surface. “I can still remember your face so damn vividly… You were all excited about being in the bunker, gushing about the water pressure and shoving burritos in your face… Seeing you in that damn hoodie and with your beard growing out, and… you just looked so _human._ So… _vulnerable._ And I kicked you out…"

Castiel knew there was nothing he could say to help alleviate Dean’s guilt. This was just something he was going to have to feel. So, instead, he reached out across the table, pulling out one of Dean’s crossed arms from under him and intertwining his fingers with Deans. “We can’t change the past, Dean.”

Dean just barely managed to pull the side of his mouth into a smile, reaching out with his other hand and placing it over their combined ones. “Would probably fix a lot of our problems if we could, huh?”

“I don’t know about that…” Castiel uttered softly, finding himself falling into the endless shades of forests in Dean’s eyes. “I quite like where we’ve ended up.”

Dean huffed gently at that, looking down to their joined hands, feeling his fingers run absentmindedly over Castiel’s knuckles. It’s then, his fingers brushing over the soft skin of Cas’s, that the plan for Step Two all seems to fall into place in his mind.

“Yeah…” Dean says out loud, looking back up to meet Castiel’s inquisitive gaze. “Can’t change the past, right? But I got a whole lot of future with you to make up for it.”  
  


* * *

Step two _begins_ on September fifteenth – as part of Dean’s plan.

He had already booked the week off work for it – and how weird is _that_? Taking _vacation –_ and then the plan officially began that Wednesday evening, when Castiel returned to the bunker at seven, looking about ready to drop dead after a grueling shift at the Gas N’ Sip.

His plans to drag Dean from whatever he was doing and pull him into bed for a well-deserved nap was ruined when he was met with an anxious-looking Dean sat at the library table, laptop open and spilling out its harsh light into the darkness of the bunker, phone in one hand whilst he chewed incessantly at his nails on the other hand.

“Dean?” Castiel asked as he stepped further into the bunker, pocketing the keys to the old second-hand pick-up truck he had purchased with his _own_ money a month prior into his trench-coat pocket (he and Dean had argued back and forth over the purchase, with Dean insisting he just takes one of the old classic cars from the Men of Letters collection. The argument was dropped when Cas bought up how odd it would be for someone working at a Gas N’ Sip to pull up into work with an expensive classic car from the thirties.)

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked upon reaching the library table.

“Nothing,” Dean answered immediately, which of course meant that it wasn’t ‘nothing’. After a few seconds of disbelieving stares from Cas, he sighed and placed his phone down on the table, rubbing a hand across his face. “Sam and Eileen went out on a hunt.”

“…Okay?” Castiel said, unsure what the significance of that was supposed to be.

Sam and Eileen had decided to stop hunting. _Eventually._ In no way were they picking up hunts as frequently as they used to, with the idea being that they’d slowly ease out of hunting, leave it to the younger ones, the next generation of hunters, to take on the task they had devoted most of their life to.

“Jody called about a suspected Vamp nest up in Illinois,” Dean explained. “She was too wrapped up with _actual_ police work, and there weren’t any hunters available locally to do it, so… Sam offered to go.”

Castiel pulled out a chair opposite Dean, taking a seat as Dean once again picks up his phone, checking through the messages again like he had the past few hours. “I… I don’t understand. Why are you worried? You’ve been okay the past few hunts?”

“I don’t know, Cas. Something about this one feels… _weird._ Can’t explain it, just got some gut feeling that something ain't right. Already had it pretty bad, then…”

“Then what?”

Dean answered by flipping his phone around in his hands, offering it out for Cas to take. Castiel takes it, glancing down at the screen to see that the messenger app was open, displaying a text chain between Dean and Sam.

**‘Message Received – 4:30 PM’**

**Sam:** _‘Three more bodies now, Dean. THREE._

**‘Message Sent – 4:31 PM’**

**Dean:** _‘How is that even possible? You’ve been there, what, two hours?’_

**‘Message Received – 4:33 PM’**

**Sam:** _‘Yeah, which probably means there are more bodies that just haven’t been found yet.’_

**‘Message Sent – 4:33 PM’**

**Dean:** _‘So what you thinking?’_

**‘Message Received – 4:35 PM’**

**Sam:** _‘I’m thinking that Jody’s estimate of a small nest might be a little off the mark. Eileen’s still down at the police station, trying to get some more info on the victims and where they were found. Once we track down the nest we can do some recon, try and get a better estimate of their numbers.’_

**‘Message Sent – 4:36 PM’**

**Dean:** _‘Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? If it seems big, you call Jody. Don’t try and be the hero and take it on just you two – rope in some more hunters, guilt trip Jody into coming down if you have to.’_

**‘Message Received – 4:39 PM’**

**Sam:** _‘Say’s the guy who would have charged in guns blazing already at this point.’_

**‘Message Sent – 4:40 PM’**

**Dean:** _‘Good thing I’m not on the hunt then, bitch.’_

**‘Message Received – 4:40 PM’**

**Sam:** _‘Yeah, otherwise I might have to drag your ass off a pole again, jerk.’_

“And you haven’t heard anything since?” Castiel asked, even though the evidence of that being the case was in his hands.

“Yeah. No calls or anything. I know it’s only been a few hours, but… I can’t help but worry.”

“That’s understandable,” Castiel says, reaching across to hand the phone back over. “But I don’t think there’s any reason to be alarmed just yet. They’re probably just going to get dinner. Sam wouldn’t text you unless there was something new with the case, right? So his lack of communication doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong.”

“Yeah… yeah. That’s true,” Dean mumbles. “You’re right… I know you’re right.”

“But you’ll still worry.”

“Yep…”

On September seventeenth, the Friday evening of that same week, Castiel returns home to almost the same scene as that Wednesday. Except, this time, Dean is frantically pacing about the library, looking about ready to start tearing out chunks of his hair.

Castiel can’t even get a word out before Dean’s head snaps up at the sight of him, rushing over to grab Castiel’s arm and lead him towards the hallway. “We gotta go, Cas.”

“Wha-,” Castiel tries to slow Dean down, which he does – only barely. “Dean, what’s going on?”

“It’s Sammy,” Dean answers, frantic eyes flickering between Cas and the hallway. “I think he’s in trouble.”

Dean is hurrying off down the hallway before Cas can even respond, huffing out a frustrated sigh at the former hunter before chasing after him. Dean is already tearing through his drawers for clothes when Cas makes it to their bedroom, watching as Dean hurriedly shoves some of their spare clothes into a duffel bag.

“Why do you think he’s in trouble?” Castiel asked calmly, hoping that keeping his voice steady and calm would help relax Dean a little.

It did not.

“This morning, he texted me saying that they tracked down the nest,” Dean answers, not even looking at Cas as he speaks, focused on grabbing his pistol from under his pillow and checking it over before sliding it in amongst the clothes in the duffel. “That was the last text I got. Said he and Eileen were heading in to see what was up and… nothing but radio silence since.”

“That doesn’t mean-,”

“But it _could,_ Cas,” Dean stressed, whipping around to face him, pleading eyes digging into Castiel’s. “Look, I know you don’t want me going out there, okay? I know I promised not to do hunts anymore, but this isn’t a hunt. I have to see if he’s okay, Cas.”

Castiel exhaled sharply, stepping further into the room and letting the heavy door swing shut behind him. “It feels a little bit too much like déjà vu for me; one last hunt… another vampire nest…”

“I know,” Dean said, feeling himself deflate at the way Cas seemed to shrink in on himself. “But I have to do it, Cas. It’s my _brother._ ”

Castiel held Dean’s begging gaze for a few moments more before closing his eyes with a heavy sigh, nodding his head in resignation. “I wouldn’t expect you not to. Not for Sam,” Then, he turns to the wardrobe he and Dean shared, pulling out a few pairs of shirts and slacks for himself, daring Dean to challenge him as he stuffed them into the duffel. “But you can’t expect me not to go, too.”

The knowing grin Dean gives him in return is somewhat surprising, pausing in his packing as Dean leans across the bed to place a chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it, angel.”

* * *

Castiel knew Dean was especially worried when he threw him the keys to the Impala with a grunt of, “Here, you drive,” and slinking into the passenger seat before Cas could even look up from the keys in his hands.

Castiel couldn’t say he was too thrilled about the prospect of a _ten-hour drive_ after working a nine-hour shift at the Gas N’ Sip, but… this was for Sam, after all. They were on the road by nine the same evening, headed down the US-36 East for what Cas knew was going to be a grueling and monotonous drive. Dean was all jitters next to him, his leg constantly shaking on the spot as he stares out of the Impala’s windows, the amber streetlights whizzing past only serving to intensify his anxiety.

“Knew I shouldn’t have let them go…” Dean mumbled out loud around three hours into their trip, phone still held tightly in his hands. “I ignored my damn gut, and look where that got me…”

“We still don’t know if anything’s wrong yet,” Castiel tries to assure him, briefly turning his gaze away from the stretch of road ahead to glance over at Dean. “There’s no use torturing yourself over the ‘what if's.’ All we can do is try and track and them down, and then go from there.”

Dean only grunted in response – whether in agreement, Cas had no clue – swiping up and down the brief chain of messages he got from Sam this morning like a new message was magically appear, assuring Dean that Sam and Eileen were okay.

Around the six-hour mark, Dean chucked his phone into the backseat with a frustrated grunt. A sign advertising a nearby rest stop approached overhead, and Dean quickly tapped at Castiel’s arm with the back of his hand, gesturing to the sight before it disappeared out of sight. “Pull over, Cas. I’ll take over.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks, flicking on the indicator and switching to the right-hand lane. “I can keep driving-,”

“Nah, you deserve a break,” Dean cut him off. “Besides, I think I need the distraction right now. Can’t stop _thinking_.”

Whilst Dean found the constant passing of the lights ahead anxiety-inducing, Castiel found them almost soothing, feeling his eyelids begin to droop as he got comfortable in the passenger seat, the lights of the passing cars beginning to blur together until there was nothing but darkness.

Around the nine-hour mark, just as the horizon was shifting from that dark purplish to the soft orange glow of the approaching sunrise, Dean let his eyes drift away from the road to his angel sleeping peacefully next to him. Castiel has curled into himself on the seat, facing towards Dean with an arm outstretched, his hand having come to a rest atop Dean’s thigh at some point in his slumber. Dean felt his mouth pull into an affectionate smile at the sight of him, finding it much more difficult than usual to return his gaze back to the road.

Somehow, now he was a human with his messy bed hair, tired bags and dark circles under his eyes, and the slightly darker, patchier five o’clock shadow from missing a few days of shaving… Cas never looked more like an angel in his eyes.

“If only you knew, Cas,” Dean spoke softly to the slumbering man next to him, letting out a small chuckle as the exit sign for ‘Pontiac, Illinois’ passed overhead. “If only you knew…”

* * *

Dean gently shook Castiel awake as they pulled into ‘The Delight Motel’ (Dean could already tell from its crumbling exterior that this would _not_ be a delight), waiting for Castiel to come to his senses a little before making an attempt to speak to him. No one can understand the English language five seconds after waking up…

“Here,” Dean said as Castiel wiped the sleep from his eyes, handing him a Styrofoam cup of fresh, hot coffee. “Stopped at a drive-through while you were out; thought you’d appreciate some caffeine.”

Castiel took the hot beverage eagerly, not even bothering to check its temperature before taking a hearty swig of the dark, rich drink.

“I asked them to put some honey in it too, before you ask,” Dean told him before taking a swig of his own black coffee. “You freakin’ weirdo…”

Castiel pulled the coffee away from his lips with a pleased hum, licking the few dregs that had clung to his upper lip. “Did I mention I love you?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice, yeah,” Dean intended for his reply to sound as sarcastic as possible, but the smile that crept onto his face transferred over to his tone. He took another swig of his coffee, gesturing with cup in hand to the worn-down sign of the Motel. “This is the place Sam and Eileen set up camp: room number seventeen.”

“We’re not going straight to the nest?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. “I’m gonna book another room for the night. Thought it’d be best we go have a look around their room, see if there’s any clues to where they went. Besides, there’s always the chance that they’re just chilling in there and Sam just broke his charger or something right?”

Judging by the fact that Dean gets no answer upon knocking on the door – even going so far as to use their super special secret knock – even Castiel has to admit that maybe everything _isn’t_ alright. After a few tense minutes of Dean attempting to pick the lock to the room, with Castiel standing watch and praying that no nosy motel attendants peer out the flimsy plastic vertical blinds, they finally break through into the room only to find…

Nothing.

Well, not _nothing._ The room was empty of occupants, but evidently lived in. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign still hung from the outside of the door, and so there had been no housekeeping staff to clean out the boxes of Chinese take-out cartons from the night before that had been hastily shoved into the trash, or the few bottles of beer still sat atop the mini-kitchen counter in the corner of the room. The double bed sat in the middle of the room was made, but clearly in a rush and _clearly_ by Sam – Dean recognized that scruffy bed making style anywhere. For a moment, Castiel almost entertained the idea that they had already left, but then the sight of Sam and Eileen’s shared duffle stuffed underneath the motel’s rickety table, that of which still contained their spare clothes, Sam’s laptop, and a few research books, quickly disproved that theory.

“Nearly twenty-four hours,” Dean says, picking out a flannel shirt from the duffel and staring down at it with his jaw clenched so hard he could feel a headache coming on. “It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since they left for the nest, Cas. And they haven’t texted us to let us know they’re alright. It’s time to panic, right?”

“Maybe a little.”

* * *

Castiel would be lying if he said arming up for this hunt didn’t make him a little nervous. Sure, he had _years_ of battles under his belt, but… hunting without being able to rely on his powers was always a nerve-wracking thought. Being mortal never felt more… _inconvenient._ Once upon a time, he would have simply tracked down Sam’s location, flown to him and Eileen, and smited every Vampire in eyesight, then heal any potential wound either of the two may have been inflicted.

Now… now he can only sit in the passenger seat of the Impala, leg bouncing in uncontrollable nerves as the dark of night begins to descend on them (because of _course_ this would go down when it was dark, why _wouldn’t_ it?) as they approach Sam’s last guess of where the Nest could be from the extensive list they had checked _all day._

This was the last possible location on the list. If there was no sign of a Vamp nest, no sign of Sam and Eileen here… Well, truth be told, he didn’t know _what_ they would do.

Castiel found himself so caught up not only in his nerves, but at the overwhelming _desire_ to get Sam and Eileen back to safety, that he didn’t even notice the familiar barn that the Impala rumbled up to in the middle of nowhere. Desolate in location, its aged wooden exterior looking about ready to fall apart at even the gentlest blow of the wind. This was a barn that Castiel absolutely _should_ have recognized, but… he was too preoccupied in his thought to.

Not even as he clambered out of the Impala, pulling out a machete from her trunk as Dean did the same, did Castiel notice the unusual golden light spilling from inside the barn. His heart pounded relentlessly in his chest, an annoyingly loud noise in his ears that made it harder to pick up any potential sounds from within the barn. Dean had only just begun to close the trunk to the Impala before Castiel was already storming towards the barn, eyes darting around its exterior with his hand’s gripped snugly around his machete’s leather handle, ready to swing at even the smallest of movements.

Castiel paused at the old wooden doors, taking a deep breath to ready himself before pushing on the doors as hard as he can, raising the machete in preparation as the doors creak and groan at him. He takes a few steps into the barn, barely registering the glass crunching under his feet, ready to face an onslaught of prepared Vampire’s that were most likely waiting for the other Winchester brother to show up when…

When that’s not what happens. His eyes are immediately drawn to the faded, black sigils that were painted around the interior walls of the barn, sigils that would keep out nearly every supernatural creature known to humanity, all apart from….

From angels…

This was… this was _the_ barn. _Their_ barn. The one where… where had had first shown himself to Dean, all those years ago. He can still remember it so vividly: the glass bulbs shattering over his head, blown out by what was once his immense holy power; the _fear_ on Dean and Bobby’s face as he approached, not even caring about the shotgun slugs that filled his chest; the genuine amusement he felt as this man, the man that was labeled ‘righteous’, the one that would help lead Earth into paradise under God’s command… had just stabbed an _angel of the Lord_ in the chest with a _demon_ knife.

The very second Dean had done such a fearless but utterly foolish move… Castiel knew he would like the stubborn human stood before him.

The entire barn was _covered_ in candles. They were placed on the ground, bathing what should have been a cold, dark barn in a _warm,_ golden light that flickered across the sigils, almost making them appear as if they were shifting on the wooden panels.

The candles formed a walkway, leading to an old table that had been left untouched inside the barn for thirteen years. There, sat upon the table, having what looked like a pleasant conversation with their legs swinging underneath the table was…

“Sam?” Castiel asked in disbelief, feeling his grip on the machete relax somewhat. “Eileen? What…?”

“Hey, Cas,” Eileen greeted him with a gleaming smile, waving joyfully at the former angel.

“I… I don’t understand,” Castiel mumbles, dropping the machete down to his side when he’s unable to see any potential danger – apart from all these candles setting the old wood alight, of course. “You… you had gone silent. We thought you were hurt, or _dead.”_

“Yeah… not so much,” Sam answers, a little to Castiel’s frustration. “We were just here as the distraction.”

“The… _what?”_

Sam smiles at him, gesturing with his finger in a circular motion for Castiel to turn around. Castiel takes in their barely contained grins of pure glee before following Sam’s commands, spinning around on the spot to the entrance of the barn where-

Castiel’s brain comes to a sudden halt. Somehow, he’s able to register Sam’s encouraging pat on his shoulder after he had jumped off the table, him and Eileen passing by and exiting the barn, leaving Castiel to absorb the situation in front of him.

There, in the entrance of the barn, was Dean; knelt down on one knee with a lop-sided smile that put his nerves on full display. And there, sat within his hands held towards Castiel, was a deep blue colored velvet box, containing a single gleaming silver ring that almost appeared gold as the light from the candles were reflected in its polished metal.

“Step Two?” Dean say’s like it’s a question - an _offering_. “Told you Sam and Eileen were going to have to be involved for Step Two – and that they’d know before you.”

Castiel still hadn’t said anything. In fact, he hadn’t done much in terms of a reaction whatsoever – unless you count blinking rapidly down at Dean as he knelt down on the cold hard dirt. “Uh, Cas? You, uh… you gonna say something, or should I keep going with the speech I had planned? Coz I think I might have knelt in some glass here and it’s kinda painful…”

At Castiel’s continued silence, Dean took the opportunity to carry on with the speech he spent longer working on than he’d like to admit. “Thirteen years, Cas. Thirteen years ago to _this_ date, you walked into my life. Back then, you were another monster to add to the list. Another seemingly overpowered being to throw a wrench into the plans. If someone told me those thirteen years ago that I’d become best friends with that being? I’d assume they were drunk off their ass. If they then told me that thirteen years later, I’d be _proposing_ to him? I would have personally dropped them off at the psychiatric ward myself.

“Now? Now, I’d check them out of that hospital, buy them a cold beer and thank them for planting the idea in my head. Coz all them years ago… it seemed crazy even then to know an angel, let alone realize I was starting to care for him. Then, eventually… I would fall in love with him.”

Dean cleared his throat as Castiel shuffled closer to him, eyes fixated on the ring sat snugly within its velvet pillow. “You know, back when we met it’s – heh – I guess it would almost be cheesy to say that sparks flew, huh? And while I know cupids technically exist… I don’t believe there was a cupid there that day. I don’t think that we were destined to be, that there was some plan in place that required our courtship. I think… I _know,_ that what we have is real _because_ we chose it for ourselves. It may have been God that forced us together, but it was _us_ that helped our friendship bloom into something more.

“And while Cupid might not have been there that day to shoot an arrow through your chest… I sort of did it for him my own way,” Dean swallowed nervously. “I thought it was only right that the blade I once used to pierce your heart should be used to represent my love for you; how me, of all people, managed to capture your heart, Castiel.”

“This…” Castiel croaks out, eyes darting between the ring in Dean’s hand and his expectant face. “This is the demon blade?”

“ _Was_ the demon blade. Had it melted down,” Dean answered. “Look, Cas - you know I’m not the greatest at words and ‘speaking my feelings.’ Honestly, I’m surprised I managed to get through all of that without forgetting anything, but… I don’t think I even needed any of that speech. All that matters is that I love you, Castiel. Castiel, Cas, Buddy, Sunshine… lots of names I’ve called you over the years,” Dean plucked the silver ring out of its box, holding it out to Cas. “How does ‘husband’ sound?”

“You’re not joking, are you?” Castiel whispers. “You’re… you’re proposing… to _me?”_

“Had been planning to the second we got you back, Cas,” Dean said. “There were so many times where I’d wake up with you next to me, and you’d smile _just_ from the sight at me, that I nearly asked you right then and there. Sam was so excited to be a part of this though, couldn’t do that to h- - _oof-,”_

Dean got the wind knocked out of him as he suddenly found himself with an armful of (still to him) angel, landing on his back with a mixture of a pained grunt at the near six-foot man landing on his ribs and a surprised bark of laughter at said man _launching_ himself at Dean. Whatever noise he made was quickly silenced by Castiel’s lips claiming his own, keeping a firm grip on the ring in his hand (didn’t want to lose _that)_ whilst his other hand came to rest on the side of Cas’s face. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable position; with shards of glass poking at him underneath his shirt and one of Cas’s knees dug painfully in his thigh and a sharp elbow resting on his ribs – but the firm weight of Castiel atop him, pushing into the kiss like he couldn’t get enough of him, more than made up for all that other stuff.

“You’re an ass for tricking me into thinking Sam and Eileen were in trouble,” Castiel gets out in a rush once he pulls away from Dean. “And if I was a pettier man, I would reject your proposal for putting me through that terror.”

“Is that your way of saying yes?” Dean asks through the blissful smile already breaking out onto his face. He already knew the answer before he had even asked, of course (maybe there was a little part of him worried about Cas saying no, but to be fair, he’ll probably be double checking with Cas that he ‘loves’ loves him when they’re in their nineties chilling out together in rocking chairs.)

Castiel pushed himself off of Dean, holding out a hand to pull Dean up. Dean took his hand, letting Cas pull him up until they were both sat on the glass-covered floor of the barn, smiling at each other in the candlelight like the two idiots in love they were. “You’re a fool if you think I would have any other answer than ‘yes,’ Dean Winchester.”

Dean flipped around Cas’s hand that was still wrapped around his, silently muttering a prayer in his mind that the ring would fit as he slid it onto Castiel’s ring finger (he didn’t think there would ever be a more nerve-wracking time in his life than when he was wrapping that damn measuring tape around Castiel’s finger as he slept; just waiting for him to startle awake and either punch the strange dark figure messing with his hand at two o’clock in the morning, or have the proposal spoiled months earlier).

“Guess that makes it official,” Dean said. “Guess I can’t call you ‘husband’ just yet, but… ‘fiancée’ sounds good for the time being, right?”

* * *

Planning the wedding was surprisingly easy.

It wasn’t all ‘panic over what flowers to use, what food to serve, where guests will sit’ and all that other crap you saw in tv shows and movies. Mostly because… there wasn’t really much _to_ plan. It wasn’t going to be a traditional wedding – and really, it would be _weird_ if it was. Traditional just… wasn’t their style.

Funnily enough, the ceremony itself _was_ going to be small - just as Dean had pictured all those months ago. The few decisions they had to make took barely more than a few minutes of discussion at the map table over the course of one night. Although, that’s not to say that his little brother didn’t put in a downright flattering amount of effort; going so far as to sketch up some ideas and lists on one of those whiteboards on wheels, talking enthusiastically about where exactly the ceremony could be and whatnot.

“It _does_ sound nice to do it early February,” Castiel mused at Sam’s suggestion.

“Oh yeah, all that snow?” Eileen said. “You can almost picture it, right? Blanketed on the ground, all on the trees, a perfect winter backdrop.”

“Yeah, but… I’d rather not have to freeze my balls off,” Dean said. “How about sometime in the spring? You know, new beginnings and all that. Me and Cas, starting a new chapter of our lives. And, y’know, it’d be nice to say my vows without my teeth chattering.”

“Okay, so… we got the guest list mostly completed…” Sam said, tapping at the hastily written out list in front of him. “You still want Claire to be at the ceremony, Cas?”

Castiel nodded in answer.

“Alright… So, at the ceremony itself it’s just us and Claire… and uh…”

“And…?” Dean said.

“Well, it’s just… Rowena _did_ technically ask you to invite her to the wedding,” Sam brought up. “And, you know, I was thinking… we’re gonna need someone to officiate the wedding, right? So…”

“Isn’t that like… against the law _and_ nature?” Dean asked incredulously. “A witch? Who’s died and come back multiple times, now the _Queen of Hell_ … being the one to marry two dudes in the Midwest, one of which was a former angel and the other a dude who was once a _demon?_ ” Dean just barely caught Castiel’s eye before all four at the table burst out into fits of laughter at the notion of what Dean had just described.

“You know what? Why not!” Dean said, throwing up his arms with a smile still plastered on his face. “Better than a stranger. And she did _technically_ ask… I mean, screw tradition, right? We’re already breaking tradition having Claire walk Cas down the aisle – the _daughter_ giving the _father_ away.”

“How are we even going to ask Rowena?” Castiel asked. “Does she… have a _phone?_ ”

“Don’t think so,” Sam said. Then, another small smile crept onto his lips, huffing out a laugh as the realization struck him.

“What?” Dean asked at Sam’s laughter.

“Nothing, just…” Sam cleared his throat. “We’re… probably going to have to hand the invitation over to a cross-road demon or something… Already picturing the look on its face as it hands over a fancy piece of card with ‘You are cordially invited to the wedding of Castiel and Dean Winchester’ printed on it.”

As it turns out… that’s _exactly_ what happened. Dean had put on his most charming smile as he stood sweating and dirty at the cross-roads, shovel in one hand and invitation in the other as the crossroad demon stood in front of him looked like he wanted nothing more than to rip out all of his internal organs and let the Hellhounds use them as a chew toy. It was a downright miracle the demon didn’t decide to break allegiances with Rowena right there and then…

One week before the wedding, things were… calm. Like there wasn’t even going to _be_ a wedding in one week. It felt… normal, Dean supposed. They were just sat around the kitchen table that night, chowing down on burgers made by yours truly, talking about a potential shape-shifter case up in Wyoming when Sam said, “Hey… you know what I just realized? You guys are gonna be _married_. By _law_.”

“Yeah, hopefully, so long as the registry accepts our completely fake documents,” Dean says around a mouthful of meat and cheese.

“It's just… it's crazy, right? I mean, Cas, I’m gonna be your ‘ _brother-in-law.”_

Castiel sucked off some grease that has dripped down his finger, leveling Sam with a bemused stare. “I already considered you a brother to me, Sam.”

“Wow, you guys are very… _nonchalant_ about getting married,” Eileen said.

“I wouldn’t say ‘nonchalant’,” Castiel said, looking forlornly down to the empty space on his ring finger where Dean’s ring once was; having decided to remove the ring a month before the wedding, to use at the ceremony itself. He was looking forward to getting it back.

“Yeah, I think we just… don’t really consider the importance of the ‘law' parts of it,” Dean said.

“Winchesters? Not caring about the _law_? I’m shocked.” Eileen said with a grin, hand to her chest in fake shock.

Dean rolled up his napkin and chucked it at her for that comment, getting his plans thwarted by a protective swipe from Sam along with a less than pleased glare. “ _I'm_ just focusing on the important stuff, like pledging to spend the rest of my life with this dumbass next to me,” Dean said, jabbing a thumb as Cas. “ _Then_ having a nice little celebration with the people in our lives that may very well die at any given moment. We're not focusing on ‘related by law’ stuff and crap like that, right Cas?”

But when Dean looked over, he saw that Cas was sitting oddly still on his chair, staring wide-eyed into nothingness as a thought washed over him. “I… I punched my future father-in-law…”

“You… you _what_?” Dean spluttered, exchanging bewildered stares with Sam. “You never _met_ our Dad – when the hell did you manage to punch him?”

“We, uh… we became _acquainted_ in Heaven,” Castiel tells them, nervous eyes darting between the two brothers.

“And you _punched_ him?” Dean asked. “What did he do that made you punch him?”

“I saw him,” Castiel answered simply. Dean and Sam’s heads whipped around to face each other, keeping up the astonished appearance for only a few more seconds before bursting out into laugher. Castiel visibly relaxed at the two’s apparent amusement at his act of violence against their father, even going so far as to crack a smile at the (admittedly) humorous memory.

“Wait, wait – let me get this straight,” Dean leaned up from his laughing fit, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as he asks, “So you walked into heaven… saw my Dad… and before he could even say anything to him, you walked right up and _punched_ him?”

“He got a few words out,” Castiel defended himself. “Not the whole sentence and, quite frankly, I wasn’t listening to what he was saying at the time anyway.”

“So, your first act in Heaven was… to commit an act of violence?” Eileen asked.

“It was deserved,” Castiel mumbled darkly.

“Man… first family dinner up in Heaven is gonna be awkward, huh?” Dean said, picking up his glass of coke from the table (Cas had kept up his insistences that Dean stays sober as long as he could) and leaning back against his chair. “Does, uh… Does mom and dad know? About _us?_ ”

Castiel could pick up the shift in Dean’s tone immediately; gone was the light-hearted tone, left now with fear of judgment disguised under indifference that Dean had much practice with. “They do,”

“And, uh…” Dean paused to take a sip of his coke, taking advantage of the opportunity to get his thoughts under control. “What do they think?”

Castiel stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words carefully. “Your father is… a product of his time, Dean. I think it’s fair to say that I wasn’t the person he was thinking of when he pictured your partner.”

“Right…” Dean mumbled, casting his eyes down to his plate. The few remaining fries on his plate didn’t seem quite as appetizing anymore. Sam looked uncomfortable to be part of this conversation, mostly because Castiel’s answer was one he was expecting.

“But-,” Castiel said, the continuation catching Dean’s attention. “Both him and your mother recognized that you are happy, Dean. And that’s all they want for you.”

Dean glanced up at Cas at that. “Dad really said that?”

“Your mother was rather unimpressed with your father’s attempts at ‘playing nice’ with me,” Castiel tells him, getting a huff of laugher from Dean. “To be fair, I did punch him immediately upon meeting him, so it’s not too surprising he wasn’t too pleased with me. I… I hope you two aren’t _too_ upset that I punched your father…”

“Someone had to do it…” Eileen mumbled around the glass she had raised to her mouth.

“Do I mind?” Dean asked. “By the sounds of it, Cas, you were defending my honor. I should be _flattered._ And, you know… technically I’ve punched _your_ dad before – not that it did anything to the bastard, but it felt damn good to do it.”

“Huh,” Sam said then, pointing between Dean and Cas. “I know you said you don’t care about the whole ‘law’ thing, but… once you’re married, _God himself_ will be your father-in-law, Dean.”

“If he was still alive, Lucifer would have been your brother-in-law,” Eileen brought up with a teasing grin.

“And Gabriel. And Michael. And Raphael. And every other angel,” Castiel added.

“Dude – you wanted to bang your _aunt-in-law_!” Sam exclaimed, breaking out into peals of laughter at the horrified look Dean gave him.

“That wasn’t my choice! It was the damn left-overs from the Mark…” Dean grumbled in defense, only feeling marginally better at the teasing when Cas wraps a leg around his under the table. “Whoa, wait… won’t _Jack_ become related to me by law, too?”

“Thought you didn’t care about the ‘law’ thing?” Sam said.

“Shut up, it’s interesting. He’ll be like… my officially _adopted_ son or something.”

“Nephew, technically,” Castiel corrected him. “On a biological level, I am Jack’s uncle. You will become his uncle-in-law.”

“This is just plain weird…” Eileen said. “You guys have one messed up family.”

“Yep. And now you’re part of, too,” Dean said, throwing a wink Sam’s and Eileen’s direction before taking another sip of his teeth-rottingly sweet drink. “Welcome to the world’s most dependent and messed up family, you two. You’re gonna love it.”

* * *

On the morning of May 14th, Dean wakes up to an empty bed. Not all too surprising, considering he had fallen asleep to an empty bed, too. It was one of the few traditions they decided to keep – not seeing your significant other the night before, then seeing them again for the first time at your wedding. Dean stretched out his arm to the empty side of the bed, almost able to imagine the warmth of Castiel’s skin under his hand instead of the coolness of the bedsheets.

They decided not to go with some stuffy church that would probably have people looking down on them and cursing the government for forcing them to let two men be happy, God _forbid._ Instead, they decided there was no better place to get married than in the little found home of theirs.

The clearing Sam had found on one of his jogs was just a ten-minute walk into the woods surrounding the bunker. It was a beautiful spot, hidden away from prying eyes and filled with the green of freshly sprouting vegetation and leaves blossoming to life on the trees that hung overhead. The best part however was that, right at the end of the clearing, was a single _beautiful_ weeping willow tree.

The second Sam showed him the clearing, Dean knew it just had to be where they got married.

They didn’t have to make too many changes to the clearing itself. What few logs and twigs littered about the forest floor were moved out of the way. Then, looking at the pile of wood they had made, Sam had the brilliant idea to lay out the smaller, thinner logs into a makeshift aisle leading up to the willow tree.

A quick visit later to Target, Sam came running back into the bunker with a bunch of small lanterns, mini candles, and some wire. Sam made quick work of setting up the lanterns, looping the wire around the low hanging branches of the surrounding trees and creating a trail of what would become twinkling lights above their heads during the ceremony once the candles were lit.

But now, here in the bunker, pulling himself out of bed, Dean felt… nervous. Yes, that’s what it was. He was _nervous._ Problem was… he didn’t know _what_ he was nervous about. Obvious answer would be about getting married, but… that wasn’t it. The thought of marrying Castiel, of spending the rest of his life with Castiel, _wasn’t_ making him nervous. Was it the thought of all those people at the reception after? Was he worrying that there wasn’t enough space for everyone, not enough food? Would they even all show up?

Such thoughts plagued Dean as he trudged over to his ol’ reliable FBI suit he had hung up the night before, ironed and ready to go for the big day (and _not_ ironed with beer, this time). Usually, putting on the suit was a pain in the ass; always so stuffy feeling, not offering the same level of freedom as his usual attire of jeans and a flannel shirt did. Today… it never felt so good to slip into the suit, looking at himself up and down in the little sink mirror in the corner of his room as he shrugs on his suit jacket, brushing over the little creases that were missed in last night’s ironing session.

One thing was missing. His eyes were drawn over to the comfortingly familiar blue tie left neatly hung up on the hanger, soft under his hands as he carefully unwrapped it. He doesn’t usually wear a blue tie when he wears suits for interviews, typically opting for a traditional black tie to go with the suit jacket. Then again… this wasn’t his tie.

It was Cas’s.

It was his last parting gift before Sam and Eileen had to physically separate them, not to see each other again until later this evening, where he gets to watch his husband-to-be walk down the aisle to him. Castiel had untied the tie, sliding it out from around his neck and pressing it into Dean’s hands the same time he pressed one last kiss onto Dean’s lips with a whisper of, “Something blue, and something borrowed.”

Dean’s fingers trembled as he finished the knot to the tie, adjusting it around his throat until it was neatly tied, but still comfortable. He swallowed nervously, watching his Adam’s apple bob in the reflection of the mirror, before leaning forward and gripping the sink tightly, staring into his own wide, blown-out eyes.

“My name is Dean Winchester,” Dean spoke to the mirror. “Mary and John Winchester are my parents. Sam is my little brother. Jack is my surrogate son, soon to be nephew. And Castiel… Castiel is my best friend. My fiancé. The love of love my life. And I’m about to get married. Holy _hell_ , I’m about to get married.”

“Not for a good few hours, but sure,” Sam’s voice to his left makes Dean startle, nearly punching the sink under his hands in his flailing. Sam was leaning against the doorway, already dressed up in his own formal suit and tie, watching Dean’s mini-breakdown with a raised brow. “You losing your memory again or something?”

“Nope, just…” Dean straightens himself from the sink, giving himself another look over in the mirror before turning to Sam. “Just trying to shake my nerves.”

Sam pushed away from the doorway, stepping further into his room. Dean gave his brother an appreciative nod, gesturing to his suit. “You don’t think it’s weird we’re using our FBI suits for this?”

“Not really,” Sam answers, taking a seat on the end of Dean’s bed. “Suits a suit, right?”

“I guess…” Dean mumbles, looking down at his own suit. “At least we didn’t have to shell out hundreds of dollars for a damn wedding dress you only wear _once,_ huh?”

“You know… I could almost envision it; Cas wearing a pearly white dress as he walks down the aisle,” Sam said with a grin, waving out a hand in front of him as if he was actually picturing it. “Who’d you reckon would catch the flower bouquet toss?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t throw it,” Dean fires back. “Cas would walk straight over to Eileen and hand her the flowers – give you a clue to get a damn move on.”

Sam only rolls his eyes at him in response, crossing his arms across his chest as he does so. “Says the guy who knew Cas for _eleven years_ before making a move. _And_ it was Cas who took the first step!”

“Technically, _I_ initiated our first kiss.”

“Cas confessed his love to you first,” Sam points out. “Which is… _super_ weird. You got a love confession _before_ a first kiss.”

“Yeah, well… me and Cas are pretty far from normal, Sammy. Only right our relationship is equally as backwards,” Dean said.

Sam frowned up at him as Dean played around with his tie again, standing up and smacking his brother’s hands away before attempting to fix the tie for him. “You gonna tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

“Nothing,” Dean answered and, judging by the look Sam briefly shot up at him, he didn’t believe Dean one bit.

“You know, getting cold feet is fairly common-,”

“It’s not cold feet,” Dean refuted with a shake of his head. “God, Sam, I… I’m _so_ ready for this. Which is weird, because… I’d always imagined you’d be standing at my funeral, _not_ my wedding.” Sam’s fingers stilled in their work at that, and Dean quickly continued before Sam could say anything. “It’s not like that _now.”_

“Good,” Sam replied, finishing up his work on the tie and brushing a hand down it. “So… why are you nervous?”

“I don’t really know, I guess I’m…” Dean paused, finding himself unable to meet his little brother’s concerned gaze. “What if… What if Cas changes his mind? What if he… he doesn’t show up? Or, what if he goes through with it, then regrets it? I wouldn’t exactly blame him; he finally has a shot at living a life, being human, and… what if he feels like he _owes it to me_ or something to stick around?”

“Dean,” Sam says as gently as he can in preparation for the incoming blow. “You might just be one of the biggest dumbasses I’ve ever known.”

Dean doesn’t even blink at the insult. “Your point being?”

“You wanna know why I came in here?” Sam asked. “Because when I checked on Eileen and Cas, Cas was freaking out _just_ like you are. He was worrying over whether you had changed your mind.”

“He was?”

“For some damn reason, yeah,” Sam huffs. “Seems you’re _both_ dumbasses. Perfect fit for each other…”

Sam sighed at the apprehensive look that remained glued on his brother’s face, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Listen… Cas loves you, okay? You know he does. He’s _told_ you – _many_ times before. Hell, he doesn’t even have to say it; _everyone_ knows it just by looking at him. Cas _loves_ you, and isn’t that all that matters? He’s _going_ to be there, he _wants_ to marry you and will _always_ want to be married to you, because he loves you.”

Dean finds himself nodding along with his brother’s speech, exhaling heavily and brushing a hand down his suit for invisible dust. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”

“Course I am,” Sam says, taking his arm off Dean’s shoulder to slap him on the back. “Already had to give the same damn speech to Cas…”

_“_ I thought it was a nice speech.”

Both Sam and Dean jumped in their skin at the voice that had appeared in the room. Sam found his hands searching for a knife in his jacket that wouldn’t be there, whilst Dean was planning the best route to his pistol under his pillow that involved skirting past the stranger that had teleported into the middle of his damn room.

Except, it was no stranger.

Dean saw Sam’s reaction before he caught sight of whoever it was that was now standing behind him - his narrowed, fight-ready eyes widening at the sight of the person, hand frozen in the pocket of his suit jacket. Dean didn’t even have to turn around to see who it was; because there, in the mirror, was where Dean caught the sight of an already smiling Jack; clad in the old suit that they had bought him for the brief time he had come along on hunts with them.

“Hello,” Jack greeted them cheerfully with a wave of his hand. “I wasn’t sure what time the actual wedding was, so I thought it’d be better If I arrived first thing in the morning in case-,”

Jack didn’t even get to finish his sentence before his still waving hand was grabbed by Dean, tugging him forward into a hug that enveloped the young boy until he almost disappeared under the layers of Dean’s jacket and dress shirt. He then barely had a moment to breathe before Sam jumped in on the hug, to which Jack actually _did_ disappear between the two giant men that engulfed him in their arms.

“Seriously? _Hello?_ ” Sam asks in pure disbelief once Jack pries himself away from the two. “You’re more like Cas than I thought… _years_ of nothing and then just… _hello._ ”

“It’s… a greeting?” Jack stated the obvious.

“I can’t believe you’re here…” Dean told him, gesturing towards Jack and his attire. “You even got suited up.”

Jack looked down to himself at Dean’s gesture, glancing back up from his suit with a pleased smile. “I did; Mom told me it was expected of guests to wear formal clothes at weddings.”

“Well, yeah, but-,” Dean let out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re _God_ ; I imagine you can wear whatever you want.”

“I’m also still just… _Jack,_ ” Jack answered, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Being God doesn’t make me _better_ than you.”

“I… I kinda think it does,” Dean said.

“You know what, we can get into the semantics of who’s better than who later,” Sam cut in before Dean and Jack could continue going back and forth with each other. “Jack… what are you _doing_ here?”

The face Jack pulled at that could only be described as a ‘kicked puppy’ look. “Do you not want me here?”

“Of _course_ I want you at my damn wedding, kid,” Dean quickly answered, sending a quick dark glare Sam’s way for his poor choice of words. “Don’t think for a second that’s not the case. We didn’t get to send you a physical invitation since, y’know… you don’t exactly have a _deliverable_ address, but… we did pray to you. When we got nothing back, we assumed you were busy. Which, as _God_ , I imagine you are.”

“I am,” Jack agreed.

“So… what, you took a break from your busy schedule to attend a _wedding_?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Jack’s answer was straight-forward, leaving no room for argument. “I didn’t become God on my own. I never would have survived as long as I had without you, Sam, Cas… Before I was God, I was your family first. I think the world can wait a day for me to be here with you.”

“Kinda sounds like you’re desperate for a break yourself, huh?” Sam asked.

“A little,” Jack admitted somewhat sheepishly. “Being God is hard…”

“Hey, so long as you don’t write all of us into a life of pain for your entertainment? You’ll be doing better than the previous God,” Dean said, clapping the side of Jack's arm with a grin. “And… y'know, try not to destroy the world?”

“I'll try,” Jack promised, straightening his back and putting on his most serious face, clearly not picking up that Dean was joking.

Dean huffed fondly at the kid… God…. “Listen, Jack. I know I’ve said it a million times in prayer before, but… I also need to say it in person: Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For… bringing Cas back?” Dean said, like the answer should have been obvious. “Without you, I… well, I don’t really wanna think about what would have happened. From what Cas told us, you were there helping along the way; guiding us towards the spell, bringing back Cas's trenchcoat…”

“Bringing back Eileen,” Sam added, finding himself reaching out once more and giving Jack's arm a grateful squeeze. “You, uh… you saved us from a lot of pain, Jack.”

“It's the least I could do,” Jack said. “I… I wanted to do so much more than what I had. I wanted to step in during that hunt, but… then Cas got there before I could, and then I realized… _this_ way, I could finally get the both of you to see what you refused to see.”

“See…what?” Dean asked.

“I'm sure Cas will tell you about what we discussed in Heaven when he wants to. As for you Dean, well… I needed you to see the real you.”

Dean shared a confused glance with Sam, turning back to Jack with his face scrunched in thought. “The real me was… being in a wheelchair?”

“Not quite…” Jack replied. “The real you -the qualities that make you, _‘you_ ’ - aren’t tied to your abilities as a hunter. You were still here, doing all you could to protect your family, to keep Cas safe, and you didn’t need to be the soldier you were raised to be to do it. You leaned on your family instead, let them help _you_ instead.

“When I was born… you saw me as a monster. I knew back then you hated me, were _scared_ of me, but… I still wanted to be _like_ you. Not because you’re a hunter that kills all the bad monsters, but because... I knew that the hate, the fear you had for me… it was because you wanted to protect your family. Protect the world, and… that’s who I wanted to be. Someone who _cared_ about others. And you didn’t show me that through the gun training, or taking me out on hunts; I learned that through the times you shared your beers with me; snuck me extra fries when Sam wasn’t looking, took me out fishing with you, taught me how to drive. You and Sam… you taught me what it's like to be human. And knowing that, in having that experience… I think it'll make me a better God.”

Dean cleared his throat, trying to push away the lump that had suddenly appeared there at Jack's words. “That’s, uh….”

“Wow,” Sam said.

“Yeah… that,” Dean agreed with his brother’s assessment. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jack said. “You heard it, and that’s all that matters.”

“Cas is gonna be worried that I’m crying before he even shows up…” Dean mumbles, hastily wiping at his misty eyes. “Wait… _Cas!_ Does Cas know you’re here?”

“Not yet, no,” Jack answered. “I was going to visit him next-,”

“Whoa whoa wait, hang on a sec,” Dean put a hand on him as if it would stop him flying away. “Maybe it'd be better to keep it a surprise, huh? Let him see you for the first time standing to us as he walks down the aisle.”

“Dude, you’ve _really_ gotta stop springing these surprises on people,” Sam admonished him.

“Who doesn’t love a good surprise,” Dean shot back with a grin, throwing an arm around Jack's shoulder and directing the young God towards the door. “C'mon, take a look at the spot we picked out. We'll find the perfect spot for you to stand for Cas to get a clear view of you. Can't wait to see the look on his face…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch me mess up again and have to include a part three lmao


	15. One Last Chapter: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wasn’t listening to Rowena’s snide comments anymore. Hell, he wasn’t listening to much of anything anymore. Not the gentle whisper of the winds as it moves through the trees, nor the scratching rustle of the leaves catching against one another by said wind; or the beautiful melodies of birds as they flew over their heads, darting between the trees and over the top of the canopy. 
> 
> There was only one thing that deserved his attention right now.
> 
> And that was Cas.

The sun was beginning its descent, soon to kiss the horizon and transfer the sky’s beautiful colors of sunset to the dark of night, lit by a sprinkling of stars that would be shining over them before they knew it. Not that they would need the stars; Sam’s handiwork with the lanterns had practically created a mini version of the night sky above them, the flickering lights of the candles almost mesmerizing dotted around the tree canopy hanging over them. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jack says next to Dean, a whimsical smile stretched across his face as he cranes his neck to look up at the canopy above them.

Dean huffs a laugh, looking down at his recently polished dress shoes as they push through the thin layer of leaves that had dropped to the forest floor. “Yeah... Sam did a good job setting everything up.”

Their pace as they move up the aisle was slow and easy, just taking the time to drink in the beautiful and calm environment that surrounded them. Jack tears his gaze away from the minimal decorations, glancing up to Dean as they continue forward. “Dean... can I ask you something?”

“Course you can,” Dean answered. “Although, I would have thought as _God_ that you know everything anyway?”

“Not everything,” Jack replies brightly, “About Cas... what made you change your mind?”

A confused frown pinched at Dean’s brow, the two coming to a stop near the end of the aisle, just before the drooping willow tree. “Changed my mind on what?”

“Wanting to be with him,” Jack said. “I never really understood before... In that, I mean... When I was born, I understood what love was... I loved my mom, and I loved Cas from the moment he laid a hand on my mother’s womb. And then, as I got to know you and Sam, I knew of the love of friendship – one powerful enough to turn into family, but...” Jack paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to describe the memories in his mind. “I saw you and Sam, and I knew that was family love, like I have for my mom, and for Cas. I saw that same love between Sam and Cas, too. And all of you and Mary. Back then, when you were... you were so _angry_ , and in _so_ much pain, and I knew it was because you had lost Cas. And I thought I understood that pain, because... because I felt that pain in knowing he was gone, too. I thought that we loved him the same way, but then... then I brought him back, and I _saw.”_

Dean swallowed nervously, shuffling on the spot at Jack’s intense gaze. “What, uh... what did you see?”

“A different type of love,” Jack said. “Cas was back, and it was like... like _you_ were back, too. You became a completely different person, and I realized I was seeing the true Dean for the first time. The pain radiating from you became more bearable, and... in that cowboy motel was the first time I saw you smile. Cas made you happy, and you made Cas happy, too. And when I realized that you and Cas were the different type of love, I... I expected for things to change. But they never did. Until now.”

Dean’s smile turned sad at the genuine questioning in Jack’s expression. His attention was momentarily distracted by the sight of Sam trudging through the woods towards them, the ends of his suit flapping in the wind as he hurries over to them. “Let’s just say me and Cas have never done things the ‘normal’ way. I never even knew Cas felt the way he did, and me... well, I was too blind to see it myself. Cas was always my best friend, and that was as far as I could see. I didn’t let myself think about seeing Cas as something more until I knew that was something _he_ wanted, and... I dunno. It all sort of clicked that it was something _I_ wanted, too.”

“Hey-,” Sam reached their side just as Dean finished talking, sounding slightly out of breath from his fast-paced walk from the bunker over to them. “-We might have to make a change of plans.”

“What for?” Dean asked.

“Rowena’s still not shown up,” Sam answers. “She _did_ accept the invite, right?”

“Yep. She even wrote on the back of the invitation saying she’d bring some bagpipes and play a ‘traditional piece’ for us.”

Sam could only blink at Dean for a few moments. “Are you... are you joking right now, or...?”

“I’m being dead serious.”

“Okay, well uh... we’re running out of time here. Eileen messaged me not too long ago, said Cas and Claire is ready to start heading up here and she’ll be up here herself any second-,”

Sam was interrupted by the sight of Eileen appearing out in the distance, weaving through the thick coverage of trees as she makes her way towards them. Dean tried his best to smother his laughter at the downright smitten look on his brother’s face at the sight of Eileen in the light gray, ankle-length dress that Claire had picked out for the both of them to be wearing, having to pull up the ends of the dress as she walks to avoid dragging it through the soil and leaves on the ground.

Eileen’s steps faltered at the sight of the extra person she initially did not recognize. It was only because of Sam and Dean’s relaxed posture around the stranger that she did not immediately suspect that something was amiss. Then, as she got closer, did she recognize the face of the boy Sam had shown her one evening on his phone; recognizing the same warm smile of the boy stuffing homemade burgers into his face as the one on the boy standing next to Dean.

“Hello!” The boy's tone held the same warmth as his smile did, along with the enthusiastic wave he gave in greeting.

“Eileen - this is Jack,” Dean gave introductions, gesturing from Eileen to Jack. “Jack, I’m assuming you already know who Eileen is?”

“Yes - _but_ this is the first time we’re meeting face to face,” Jack replies, the kind smile on his face never once faltering. “I’m sorry, I... I don’t know sign language yet...”

“That’s okay,” Eileen assured him. “I can read lips.”

“I thought God knew everything...” Dean mumbled discreetly under his breath as if the powerful being stood next to him wouldn't be able to pick up even the quietest of whispers.

“How’s Cas and Claire doing?” Sam asked Eileen.

“Should be here in about ten minutes,” Eileen said. Her eyes ran over all three who stood in front of her, quickly realizing the problem at hand. “Um... aren’t we missing our officiant?”

“That we are,” Sam answered, his lips tightening into a straight line of concern. “I suppose if it comes down to it, I’ll have to fill in. Not much to it, right? Not like we’re doing this the usual way...”

“And let you butcher it, Samuel? I don’t think so.”

Dean would have sworn in his surprise if he wasn’t so damn thankful to hear that Scottish melody of an accent behind him. He spun around on the spot, finding Rowena stood a few meters behind him; dressed in a distractingly bright red dress that matched the ruby rose color of her lipstick, with her fiery shade of hair pulled up into a neat and classy bun atop her head.

“What time do you call this?” Dean joked, putting on his best fake pissed glare, that of which immediately cracked into a joking smile.

“I call it being fashionably late,” Rowena fired back, her eyes sliding over to Sam and Eileen next to Dean. “You clean up well, Samuel.”

Rowena’s compliment left Sam blushing the same red as Rowena’s dress. “And don’t worry dear, I’m not trying to steal your man.” She added at Eileen’s questioning glare, sending the young woman a knowing wink that had Eileen blushing alongside Sam.

“Hello again, Jack,” Rowena greeted Jack, who was still standing patiently next to Dean.

“Again?” Dean questioned, gesturing with his index finger between the two. “You two have met?”

“Aye, not long after our new Lord ascended to his throne,” Rowena answered. “We came to an agreement, so to speak. A nice little deal.”

Dean didn’t like that word. ‘Deal’. In his experience, there was no such thing as a ‘nice deal’. “What kind of deal?”

“Relax – that disgustingly shiny soul of his is still in there,” Rowena rolled her eyes at Dean’s protectiveness.

“We talked about the changes to Hell,” Jack answered for Rowena. “I wanted to make sure that the only people who go to Hell are those that actually deserve it.”

“So… what does that mean?” Sam asked.

“It means that some demons are going through some career changes,” Rowena said. “No more crossroad demons – which means no more deals. Only souls that make their way down to me, are those that have tainted themselves with their own deeds.”

“You serious?” Dean asks, barely able to believe it. “The gates to Hell are closed?”

“No,” Rowena answers. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here, now would I? I may still need to send my men up here on occasion, but… not for nefarious purposes, of course. Only souls they’re allowed to rip into are those that have already been damned.”

“And… how do they like that change?” Eileen asked.

“They’ve accepted it surprisingly well,” Rowena said. “Then again, those that began speaking out were reduced to ashes, so… it’s not _too_ surprising that they saw this option was the better one.”

“Huh… sounds like you’re running a tight shift,” Dean noted.

“That I am. Don’t exactly want to be messing up and have the Winchesters on my back, now do I?”

“Technically, only Sam for now,” Dean corrected her. “I am officially retired.”

“Oh?” Rowena said in genuine surprise, turning to the younger Winchester. “Well in _that_ case…”

“Haha, very funny,” Sam deadpanned. “

“Right, right – I should save all the jokes for the reception,” Rowena clapped her hands joyfully, looking around the small clearing they were in. “Now, don’t we have a wedding to attend?”

* * *

Dean was gonna throw up.

Yep, _that’s_ what that pinching feeling in his stomach was. He _supposed_ they could be called butterflies - but only if those butterflies were armed with tiny bats and were furiously beating his insides with them.

“Am I going to have to catch you if you pass out?” Sam leaned forward from his spot as the best man to whisper into Dean’s ear, nearly getting an elbow in response from Dean, whose gaze was fixated on the aisle ahead and the – as of yet – empty expanse of forest that led up to it.

“I could help remove your nerves, if you’d like?” Jack offered, begging to step away from next to Sam to do just that.

“No, no, no, it’s fine,” Dean assured Jack, still looking out to the forest. “The nerves are good… part of the experience… they’re _good_ nerves.”

“Could always give you a fifth of whisky…” Rowena mumbles behind Dean, stood ready in her officiating spot. “I know that calms _me_ down.”

“Maybe it’s best we all get drunk _after_ the wedding, not before?” Eileen suggests, the only one currently stood on Cas’s side of the alter – the privilege bestowed upon her after being declared Cas’s maid of honor (just as Dean called, he’d like to point out)

“You may be right there, lass. Then again, maybe it’s best he doesn’t drink at all. Would be a shame if he can’t get it up on his wedding night of all nights-,”

Dean wasn’t listening to Rowena’s snide comments anymore. Hell, he wasn’t listening to much of _anything_ anymore. Not the gentle whisper of the winds as it moves through the trees, nor the scratching rustle of the leaves catching against one another by said wind; or the beautiful melodies of birds as they flew over their heads, darting between the trees and over the top of the canopy.

There was only one thing that deserved his attention right now.

And that was Cas.

That was his best friend, his fiancée, his soon-to-be husband, who was walking towards him; elbow linked with his surrogate daughter with matching smiles on both their faces. Claire was dressed in the same cloudy gray dress as Eileen, looking as elegant as a princess from one of those Disney films Jack made them sit down and watch once. And then Cas…

Cas was _stunning._

He hadn’t even been allowed to know what Cas was going to wear. He has just sort of assumed he’d be wearing a suit like he was, especially considering the fact that Cas was _always_ wearing a suit under that bulky trench coat of his. But then again, maybe that was the reason he _hadn’t;_ it would probably have felt like he was in his normal, day to day clothes.

Cas hasn’t gone over the top or anything. In fact, what he was wearing was pretty damn simple, but Cas made it look like the finest choice of fashion there is. His dress shirt was a crisp white, standing out amongst the vibrant greens of the forest he was walking through; his pants and shoes were probably the only thing he might have kept from his usual wardrobe, their jet black color a stark contrast to his shirt. The outfit was all brought together with a pair of black suspenders, connected to the belt loops of his pants and looped around his shoulders and down his back, and in place of his usual blue tie – which, of course, was currently tied around Dean’s neck, was a emerald green bow tie that didn’t take Dean long to realize matched the color of his eyes.

Dean was content to stand here and drink him in forever. Claire’s and Cas’s pace down the aisle was leisurely, but a part of Dean wanted it to be slower – not because he wanted to prolong his bachelorhood, no, but because he wanted to take as much time to ingrain this moment into his memory. He wanted to be old and drooling in a care home, most of his memories gone but _this_ one always shining bright in his head, always the one to bring a gummy, denture-filled smile to his aged and wrinkled face.

Claire almost barked out a laugh when she had reached the end of the aisle, only to see Dean’s eyes fixated on Cas with the most blissed-out smile she’s ever seen. “Hey, Dean?”

That at least managed to snap Dean out of it a little, some focus coming back into his eyes as he tilts his head towards Claire. “Huh?”

“You look after this dumbass, okay?” Claire asks, getting an undignified huff from Cas. “Oh, and, if you hurt him? I _will_ kill you. Don’t think I won’t.”

“ _Claire!”_ Cas sounded genuinely horrified by the threat.

“Claire - I ever decide to go and do something so stupid? I’ll have the shotgun loaded and ready outside the door for you to use.”

“ _Dean!”_ Castiel did not appreciate Dean spurring her violent tendencies on.

Claire and Dean shared knowing smiles before Claire unlinked her elbow from Cas, leaning up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his freshly shaven face before taking her spot next to Eileen on Cas’s side of the makeshift alter under the willow tree.

“Wow…” Dean, the master of words and expert at flirting, finds this is the only word he can say to Cas as he steps up next to him. And yet, that one word succeeds in getting a lovely blush to spread across Cas’s face, much to his delight. “You, uh, wow – you look…”

“Thank you,” Castiel saves Dean from blubbering out anymore “uh’s” and “um’s”, letting his arm brush against Dean’s as they settle into position. “You look beautiful, Dean.”

Dean didn’t exactly ever expect to be called ‘beautiful’ in his life. And yet, with all the ‘ruggedly handsome’, ‘drop-dead gorgeous’, ‘adorably cute’ comments he’s gotten from the ladies in the past… somehow, having Cas call him _beautiful_ is the only compliment he’s ever received to get a genuine smile in response, ducking his head to hide his bashful smile and slowly reddening cheeks.

“Ladies and Gents, witches, former angels, former demons, Gods… whatever title you’d like… I think we can all agree that this is a sight we’d never thought we’d see,” Rowena begins, spreading out her arms to gesture at all around them. “And yet, here we are — standing at Dean Winchesters wedding. And not _just_ Dean Winchester’s wedding, but Dean Winchester’s and _Castiel’s._

“Now, I must admit, I was a wee bit confused as to why you asked me to officiate this wedding. I had assumed that perhaps the past attempts on both your lives _may_ have lost me my golden ticket. I must confess that I know little about officiating. I was never married you see, and… it’s safe to say things have changed quite a bit over the years. But I suppose having _God himself_ here makes it easier, wouldn’t you say? After all, the officiant is simply the middleman in all of this, serving as God’s witness to the joining of the couple before them. Well… God’s right here to witness it himself — and I think it’s safe to say he has no objections.”

“Nope,” Jack says with his usual enthusiasm, looking quite pleased with his answer.

“Well then… there’s not much else for me to say,” Rowena says, placing a hand on both their shoulders. “Boys… I can’t express how thankful I am you finally ripped the band-aid off, so to speak, and told each other how you feel. Because quite frankly? Watching you two pine over each other without mentioning it was almost as insufferable as having Lucifer snap my neck.”

“We weren’t _that_ bad…” Dean tries defending him and Cas, but the amused snort of Sam next to him kind of ruins that.

“Hard parts on you boys now,” Rowena lets her hands slip away from their shoulders. “I assume you have your own vows?”

“Yeah, we do,” Dean answers, turning his focus away from Rowena to the man he plans on spending the rest of his life with. “You want me to go first?”

“Only if you want to.”

Dean nods, breathing deeply through his nerves as he prepares himself. This wasn’t exactly a speech he wanted to mess up.

“Cas… I’m not going to lie to you, I spent way too long thinking about what to say to you. I, uh… I actually started writing it down, had it all on this little piece of paper, and I realized… I didn’t need it. I didn’t need to sit there and think about how I feel for you. If I’m unable to tell you what you deserve to hear from my heart, right on the spot, then… what’s the point? So, everything I’m about to say… I want you to know that I mean every word of it.”

Castiel smiles at him – this soft, at peace kind of smile that lets Dean know that _he knows_ every word out of his mouth is going to be the truth.

“Cas… you know how hard it is for me to accept new people into my life. Every time I let them in, let myself care for them… they’re taken away from me. It’s a vicious cycle, and in the past, I decided the best way to break it was to remove the cycle entirely; keep myself distant from everyone who tries to become a part of my life. But you? You were like the world's largest mosquito…” Dean was glad to see that Cas found that as humorous as he did, the tender smile on his face widening briefly as a short huff of laugher escapes him. “You know, at first, it was kinda easy. Taking orders is what I did best back then. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have my dad barking orders into my ear, and I felt strangely lost without them. Then, there you were - always popping up at the most unexpected times, nearly sending me back to ‘perdition’ with the heart attacks you’d induce, reminding me that God had a job for me and giving me orders… I’m not afraid to admit that there were times I wish I’d never met you, Cas. The times where I felt like the burden of being the ‘righteous man’ were too much, the expectations you and all the other angels had for me, it… it felt like it would all be better if you never came into my life. Go back to the way things were before.

“And then… there would be the times I lost you. Coming back from purgatory without you, or when we lost you after Jack was born… that was a different form of Hell, mostly because I didn’t understand why it hurt so damn much to lose _you._ Out of all the friends I’ve lost over the years… losing you made me into an entirely different person – and I didn’t like that man one bit. ‘Course, I just chalked it up to you being my best friend, but… I should have known better. I know what a broken heart feels like.

“But the thing is, the first time I lost you? I lost Sammy, too. And Bobby. All that grief sort of got… _mashed_ into one. I didn’t know what to feel, and before I knew it… there you were again. Alive, powered up once more… and then you left again.

“So, I tried to do the ‘normal life’ thing. Find some semblance of peace, but… well, we all know how that ended up. And see, I think that’s part of why I always thought I’d die bloody, out on a hunt. Because giving up hunting, living a normal life? Whenever I tried to envision it… all I’d think of is how wrong it went last time, and… it scared me to try that again. To mess up the life of someone I loved, all to find myself back hunting again, like it’s some sort of drug I can't quit. But then… then I tried something new. Instead of picturing the blank, faceless woman in my future… I let myself see _you,_ Cas. I let myself see _us,_ trying the whole ‘hunter retirement’ thing. I saw us working through me giving up hunting, and it _worked,_ because _you_ understand me, Cas. You help me work through it, help remind me what it is I’m living for now. And really – what else is there for me to say to you, Cas? I want you to be the one to help me get through every problem that comes out way. I want to be by your side, every morning you wake up, ready to be there for you just as you are for me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you – and beyond that – because _I love you_. God help me, I really do.

“And he says he’s not good with words…” Sam leans down to whisper to Jack, perhaps a little more misty-eyed than he thought he’d be.

Dean doesn’t focus on his brother’s snarky comments. Instead, he takes in the genuine look of disbelief on Cas’s face, which in of itself is kind of painful to know – Dean decides then and there to make sure he constantly reminds Cas of how he feels for him as often as he can, for the rest of their damn lives. It’s not until Dean reaches out and brushes his fingers against the back of Cas’s hand that he seems to snap back into himself, finding his fingers instinctively twitching towards Dean’s, wanting to intertwine them and never let go.

For a moment, Dean thought that Eileen had mixed up the timings as she leaned over to Cas, handing him what Dean knew to be a ring enclosed snugly in her closed hand, out of sight. He hadn’t actually seen the ring yet – Cas has refused to let him see it until the wedding – but judging by the way Cas took the ring from her hand without comment, it seemed likely that Cas had made this a part of his vows.

“Dean, do you remember… it was during one of your dreams. We were on a beach, lazing about in the water, and I spoke to you in many different tongues. There was one part, where I talked to you about my time as a human. Of course, you didn’t know this, as you did not understand the languages I was speaking, but… I feel the need to expand on this, for you to understand.

“When I fell for you… I didn’t understand why. I wasn’t _supposed_ to feel such things. The only love I was supposed to hold was for my Father, and for humanity as a whole – something my brothers and sisters often forwent. I was _scared_. Scared of what these feelings meant, to the disaster it would undoubtedly lead to. The only saving grace I had was that I was still an angel. These feelings, whilst powerful because it was the first time I was feeling them… they were muted. Like an itch you can’t quite scratch. Not unbearable, but… persistent enough that you’re always aware of their presence.

“And then… I became human. In a way, I was thankful for the overwhelming feelings of shame, of guilt for being the cause of my brothers and sisters being cast from Heaven; all these new feelings such as hunger and cold, and exhaustion and… every annoying thing that comes with being human, I suppose. But the thought of seeing you again? I didn’t know it was possible to feel so filled with anticipation and… and _dread._ Because if the way I felt for you was as strong as it was whilst I had my grace… how would I cope with it, as nothing more than a human? All these new…. _desires. Temptations._

“When I regained my grace once more, it was… I thought it’d be a relief, I suppose. No longer having to feel the full brunt of my emotions. But a part of me missed that human aspect. Even when all I could do was stand by your side as nothing more than a friend… it was a privilege to feel the way I did for you. Still, it did make it easier. I was able to focus more, an extra sense of logic I felt I had lost as a human driven mostly by emotions. Sometimes… I’d think about what it would like to become human again. To give up my grace and just… live my own life, as Metatron once suggested I do.

“At the time, I realized I didn’t want to go through that again. Not because I would be mortal, susceptible to minor illnesses – and major – having to deal with that repeating cycle of hunger and thirst, keeping up with hygiene – all the things I wouldn’t have to think twice about as an angel. No, I would be perfectly fine with all those things. What I didn’t want to deal with again was the _longing._ The pain of being so utterly in love with you, and knowing I could never have you in that way. Being the ‘friend’ you took to bars, having to watch you walk out with yet another partner on your arm… No matter what, I wanted to be a part of your life – but at least being an angel helped take away some of the pain of knowing you would never love me that same way.

“But then… then here we are. Here we are, with you telling me things I only briefly dreamed about in my times as a human, and now… Now I look _forward_ to being human. I get to experience the full, deeply seated, _encompassing_ love that I have for you, because now I know I get to share that love with you. I get to spend the rest of my life, however short or long it might be, with _you_ – and not just as your friend. I get to be _more_ than that – I get to have what I always wanted, but never thought I could have.”

Cas brought his closed fist up in between them, uncurling his fingers to reveal a gleaming silver ring sat in his hand. The metal was oddly _sleek,_ almost _too_ perfect. Dean felt like he had seen that metal before, but he couldn’t quite pin it…

“I hope you don’t mind, but I ‘took a page from your book’, so to speak. This ring, like the one you made for me, is made of a metal that once belonged to a weapon. My weapon, to be specific.”

Dean’s eyes widened at the realization of what Cas had given up, wide eyes darting between Cas and the ring he held in his hand. “You… you melted down your angel blade?”

“The only one I have,” Castiel confirmed. “The one I always kept hidden up my sleeve, ready for any battle I ran into. I wanted to make this ring out of my weapon as a reminder to _you._ I want you to remember that _everything_ about my prior life – my brothers and sisters, my Father; the billions of years I spent as a Soldier of God, watching over Earth in many forms, flying past the planets of the various galaxies my father had created… _none_ of it compares to the honor of knowing you, Dean. I was, am, and always will be ready to give all that up in a heartbeat, if it means I end up right here with you. So, on the days that you wonder why I married you – and I _know_ you will think that from time to time, as much as it pains me for you to think that – I want you to take a look at this ring on your finger and remember that ‘Castiel, angel of the Lord’ is who I _used_ to be. But being ‘Castiel Winchester?’ That is who I am proudest to be.”

Everyone at the ceremony – even _Rowena­ –_ couldn’t help but look upon the two soon-to-be newlyweds with warm smiles and melted hearts. Dean was smiling so wide that he was sure to have a sore face the next day – but this seemed worth it. Cas held Dean’s left hand in his, fingers never as steady as he smoothly slides the silver ring onto Dean’s ring finger. Dean felt a nudge by his shoulder, looking over to see Sam holding his custom-made ring for Cas. Dean takes it, shooting his brother a thankful smile before taking Cas’s hand in his, just as Cas had for him, and sliding the ring onto Cas’s ring finger.

“Since we’ve done the vows and the ring’s the wrong way round, I’m just going to skip the whole ‘If anyone objects’ part, because this wedding is enough drama in of itself. So… now for the fun part,” Rowena declared once the rings were in place, her voice barely catching their attention – which was focused on the rings they both now wore. “Do you, Dean Winchester, take Castiel as your – not so lawfully – wedded husband, to be your partner in life; to share your love through the bad and the good, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Dean says like he’s never been so certain of something in his life. “Not even after death, Cas. _Always_.”

“And do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester as your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish him through the joys and the sorrow, through sickness and through health, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Castiel announces, unable to resist the temptation to reach a hand forward for Dean, the small smile on his face widening as Dean’s fingers instinctively entwine with his – feeling the cold metal of Dean’s ring against his skin.

“Then by the power vested in me by… definitely not the state of Kansas, _but_ by the power of this God standing a few feet away from me, I pronounce you spouses in love and in life. Now _go on,_ kiss him!”

Dean didn’t know if Rowena was talking specifically to him or to Cas on that last part, but it didn’t matter in the end; they both found themselves leaving forward at the same time, dipping down and tilting his head as Cas’s lips meet his. The sounds of their friends and family clapping and cheering was nothing more than muted background noise. His senses were focused entirely on Cas; of his lips that had become chapped and dry in the breeze, but no less addictingly soft; the sugary and fruity taste of his lips – likely some sort of jelly Cas had eaten with his breakfast this morning; the soapy, pine tree smell of his hair – something that seemed to linger even after he had lost his grace. Not that Dean was complaining – next to a freshly baked apple pie, it was probably the best thing he had ever smelled.

The sun had all but disappeared now, nothing more than a sliver of gold peeking over the horizon. Most of the sky had shifted to that blue that was so dark it might as well be black, only held back by the last swirls of reds, oranges, and pinks of the steadily fading sunset. The loss of the sun also meant the loss of the day’s pleasant warmth, the once relieving and cooling breeze raising goosebumps across everyone’s skin.

“Uh, guys… I don’t think we worked out the whole ‘timing’ thing too well…” Sam leaned across to pop the blissful bubble Dean and Cas were wrapped up in. “We should probably get going to the bunker before we’re stumbling back in the dark.”

* * *

Dean and Cas didn’t return at first.

Dean sent Sammy and the others back, instructing him to ‘get the party started without them’. It wasn’t like they were going to take too long – they’d probably be right behind them. Besides, it gave Sam some time to get their guests settled, start serving out food, and… well, like he said: get the party started.

“Will your first act as a married man be to murder your husband in the middle of woods, in the middle of night, in the middle of nowhere, where no one will hear you commit such a heinous crime?” Castiel asked, taking a seat on a fallen tree, and glancing up to Dean.

“Damn – you figured out my master plan,” Dean joked with him, dropping down on the tree with a heavy sigh. “I was doing everything in my power to bring you back, just to have the pleasure of taking your life by my own hands.”

“How cruel of you,” Castiel mumbled, craning his head back to take a look at the canopy of stars above them, only just starting to become visible as the sky continues to darken. “Why _did_ you want to stay behind?”

“I don’t know… guess I thought it’d be nice to enjoy a moment of peace first. ‘Calm before the storm’ and all that.”

“…What storm?”

“Going back to the bunker,” Dean answered, keeping his line of sight aimed towards the sky. “Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to see everyone and get to celebrate a _good_ thing for once. But… just a moment before, with just _us,_ would be nice. I feel like it hasn’t been just us in…”

“I know,” Castiel agrees softly, leaning into Dean’s side and resting his head against Dean’s shoulder. “With all the running around getting things ready for the wedding, we’ve barely managed to actually _see_ each other.”

“Hmm. No better way to build up to a marriage than to separate yourself from your partner through a stressful time, then throw them back together again for the rest of their lives.”

Castiel hums in agreement, taking advantage of the heat radiating from Dean to keep away the chill of the night. “Sounds about right to the way humans like to do things.”

“Yep. And you’re a human now, too. Welcome to a life of dumb decisions, Cas.”

Castiel chuckled warmly, letting his eyes scan across the forming constellations appearing in the night sky. “I think it’s more likely that I’ll get to watch _you_ make the dumb decisions.”

“We haven’t even been married for ten minutes and you’re already insulting me.”

“Yes – but I’d like to point out that I intend to stand by you through every dumb decision you will inevitably make.”

Dean and Cas fell silent for a few moments, content to sit in each other’s company and gaze upon the stars overhead. Dean couldn’t help but think back to that night – or at least, the fake one in his dream - where they were sat like this on top of Baby. That night had been the beginning of their relationship, but this night? This night was the beginning of the rest of their lives.

“Now that you’re human, do you still think I’m prettier than the stars?” Dean couldn’t help but ask, tearing his eyes away from the sky above down to Cas.

“I don’t have to be an angel to see how brightly your soul shines, Dean.” Castiel’s voice rumbled through Dean’s chest from where Cas was leaning on him. “I can see it shining through when you smile, and through your eyes when you see your family.”

Dean reached an arm around to wrap Cas up, pulling him tighter into his side. “You know you don’t have to keep up with the sappy shit, right? You _got_ me.”

“That’s no reason for me to stop,” Castiel refuted.

Dean signed in content, letting himself enjoy one last minute of relative peace before nudging at Cas to get up, standing from the log and holding out a hand for Cas to take.

“C’mon – let’s get back to the madhouse.”

* * *

Sam was partly right about the ‘stumbling home in the dark’ thing. Okay, he was _completely right_ ; Dean and Cas spent half the walk back to the bunker giggling at one another as they tripped over every loose branch, patch of thorns, sneaky exposed roots, and tree stumps hiding under the leaves.

The first thing they noticed upon returning to the bunker was that the door had been left open. Not too strange, since there was a chance Sam, Eileen, Rowena, Jack, and Claire hadn’t long since returned and decided to leave the door cracked open for their return. But on the other hand, this was still supposed to be a secret bunker that kept out most supernatural beings that weren’t welcome - and keeping the friggen door opened was kind of ruining the whole point of that.

They didn’t have much time to mull over Sam’s unusual stupidity on the subject of safety as, upon pushing the door open further and stepping through the doorway together, they were both _showered_ in a spray of rainbow-colored confetti. Sam had set up an honest to God _bucket_ _trap_ atop the door.

“And here’s Mr. and Mr. Winchester!” Came Sam’s delighted shout, bringing out a joyous cheer from the small crowd that had gathered below, clapping at the two of them up on the balcony frozen in the small pile of colored paper pieces that were laid by their feet.

Their guest list wasn’t particularly long since, well… there weren’t many friends of theirs left alive to attend their wedding. It was of comfort though, knowing that all those that aren’t with them anymore were, undoubtedly, watching the festivities from up above. And besides, there was no doubt in Dean's mind that they'd be greeted to some over-the-top celebration once they finally cross the pearly gates for good.

The first guests to greet them as they stepped off the stairs was probably the most enthusiastic of the night; Dean had barely looked up from his feet before both he and Cas were wrapped up in the mother of all bear hugs – or should he say wolf hugs – by a grinning, looked-like-he-was-seconds-away-from-crying-of-happiness, Garth.

“You know you’re gonna get a hug from me on your big night, Dean!” Garth crowed in his ear at near-deafening volume

“And I’m too high on wedding happiness right now to reject it,” Dean answered back, unable to even hug Garth back due to his arms being pinned between them.

“Oh, I nearly forgot introductions! Cas, you haven’t even met my family yet…” Garth unbound them from their hug so quickly that both Dean and Cas nearly fell over. Garth stepped to the side, calling over the rest of his family who had been patiently watching them nearby.

Betty had both her twins practically attached to her legs, one of the twins (Dean had no idea who was who considering the last time he saw them was in diapers), with a thumb firmly planted in his mouth in a way that endearingly reminded him of how Sam used to do the exact same thing whenever he was nervous as a kid. The other little girl (Gertrude! Dean remembered that one) was holding onto her mother's hand, looking around the strangers -and equally strange home- with a mixture of nervousness and childlike curiosity.

“Castiel, this is my lovely wife, Betty,” Garth introduced his wife.

“I'd shake your hand, but they’re rather full right now,” Betty said, gesturing to her literal hand full of kids. “And… I don’t know if that ring you’re wearing is silver…”

“And these here are my beautiful children,” Garth proclaimed, voice filled with clear pride as he looked down at his kids. “Gertrude, you wanna say hi to another one of Daddy’s friends?”

“Hello,” Gertrude said politely, waving a small hand to Castiel.

“And this little rascal is Sam,” Garth said, crouching down and tousling the hair of the little boy with his thumb in his mouth. The younger Sam popped his thumb out his mouth long enough to give Dean and Cas a little wave before promptly sticking his thumb back in his mouth.

“And this-,” Is as far as Garth got before the other twin – who had been staring up at Cas with wide eyes – peeled himself off of his mother and shuffled over to Cas, reaching out with his hands and a high-pitched command of “Up!”

Dean was expecting for Cas to panic a little at that. He had never actually seen Cas interact with children before – unless you counted Jack, though it’s safe to say Jack was just a tad bit more mature than the children in front of him. To his surprise though, Cas immediately bent down and scooped the young child up into his arms, responding to the kid’s high-pitched giggle of delight with a toothy smile of his own.

“This… is Castiel,” Garth finished his prior sentence. Castiel’s head snapped over to Garth in complete shock, looking genuinely taken aback at what he had just heard.

“Oh… is he…?”

“Named after you? How many other Castiel’s do you know?” Garth said with a grin, wrapping one arm around his wife, and the other around his daughter.

“I think little Cas likes you,” Dean told his husband, fighting back a laugh when the curious child pats at Castiel’s cheeks with his chubby hands.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Castiel said to the child who probably couldn’t understand what he just said. He caught little Cas’s explorative hands in his free one, sending him into another fit of giggles at the giant hands that covered his own.

“Here, I’ll take him from ya,” Garth said, holding out his arms for his son. Young Castiel brightened at the sight of his father, grabbing hold of his dad with an excited squeal of “Da-Da!” Garth held his son by his side, giving the two newly-weds a happy smile. “I’ll stop taking up all your time – let you talk to the others. I expect to see you on the dance floor later though, Dean!”

“You think I wouldn’t take the opportunity to embarrass my husband in front of everyone?” Dean said, ignoring the narrow-eyed glare Cas sent his way.

The next guests they greeted were the only other guests at this little reception of theirs, having gathered in a small group off to the side. Donna was the first to spot them making their way over, breaking out into a friendly grin that she always seemed to have. “Can you believe it, eh? Dean Winchester? _Married?”_

“I can hardly believe it myself,” Dean responded, pretty much stepping into the hug that Donna initiated the second he was within arms-reach.

“And I don’t think we’ve ever actually met!” Donna directed towards Castiel once she pulled herself away from Dean, sticking out a hand for Castiel to shake. “Donna Hanscum – nice to meet ya.”

Castiel took her hand, giving it a friendly shake with his best smile. “I’m surprised we never crossed paths. I suppose we’ve both led busy lives.”

“Didn’t use to be,” Donna joked. “I used to think being the sheriff would be the most stressed I’d ever be… then came along these two idiot brothers and turned my life upside down.”

“Uh… should I apologize?” Dean said.

“Of course not!” Donna proclaimed, giving Dean an enthusiastic slap to the arm with the back of her hand. “Now I know about all the spooky things out there that I never knew about! Good to feel like I can actually make a difference.”

“It seems you’re either born into the hunter life, or dragged into it by the Winchesters,” Came the voice of Jody, stepping up next to Donna with a glass of some fancy champagne in hand that Sam had splurged a little too much on.

“And it’s a damn good thing we did,” Dean argues. “With me and Sammy retiring, I can think of no other duo to take over the title of America’s best hunters.”

“That’s something I never thought I’d hear, either…” Jody said. “You really dropping out for good?”

“Unless there’s some other major catastrophe, then… yeah. This is it,” Dean tells them. “I could never ignore the end of the world, no matter how ‘retired’ I am, but… I know you guys will take care of things with us gone.”

“We’ll certainly try,” Jody said softly, placing her drink down on the map table to wrap them both up in a hug that Dean could only describe as ‘motherly’.

“I’m so proud of you boys…” She utters softly to them, squeezing them tighter as she speaks. “After all the crap you’ve been put through… you deserve this.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says sincerely, giving Jody one last squeeze before separating. A mother’s touch wasn’t one he had really experienced…

“You seen how well they’ve been getting along?” Jody asked, gesturing with a tilt of her head to the teens behind her. “I suppose it’s good they’re getting along well with… _God?_ ”

Dean’s eyes shifted over Jody’s shoulder, seeing exactly what Jody was talking about. Claire, Kaia, Alex, and Patience were huddled in the corner of the room, talking excitedly to Jack – who looked rather pleased to be the center of attention.

“Time to be embarrassing Dad’s,” Dean told Cas, shooting Jody and Donna one last smile before making their way over to the teens, who were likely getting themselves into all sorts of trouble.

“Can you _please_ try not to convince our new God to perform any party tricks that might set the bunker on fire?” Dean asked as they got within ear-shot.

“I think I’m good enough at my powers not to do that now,” Jack replied, raising up his hand as if to show Dean something. “I’ve been practicing with-,”

“No God powers in the bunker!” Dean held out a hand to stop him, only feeling slightly bad for the pout that instantaneously appeared on Jack’s face.

“Dude, did you just tell _God_ what to do?” Claire asked.

“Hell yeah I did,” Dean said proudly.

“You can show us later,” Castiel leans forward to whisper to Jack, giving him a wink as the pout on Jack’s face changes into a pleased smile.

“Guess we know who wears the pants in this family…” Alex mumbles to Patience, who hides her snort of laugher in the glass of coke she had brought up to her mouth.

“I might be getting older, but I’m not that deaf _yet,_ ” Dean said, glaring at the group of teens in front of him.

“Chill Grandpa,” Claire’s insult only intensified the glare tenfold. “I just wanted to get to know Jack a little better. I mean, he’s basically my brother.”

“Um… not really,” Cas said awkwardly. “In a way, I suppose you could consider him a cousin, but-,”

“Nope. He’s my brother. I’ve decided it,” Claire interrupted Cas, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder with a teasing grin. “Apparently you guys never taught him about pranks? That’s just a _crime._ He didn’t even know what the bucket prank that Sam set up was!”

“I didn’t know that a knowledge of pranks is a necessary part of life,” Castiel said. “Although, having live through many of Gabriel’s pranks, I can’t say I’m particularly fond of them.”

“Yeah, and we kinda decided that teaching a kid with powers pranks would probably end in disaster,” Dean said.

“You have cruel, cruel parents, Jack,” Claire told a rather befuddled-looking Jack, steering him away from them and towards the library, with Alex, Patience, and Kaia in tow. “C’mon – you’ve got many things to learn…”

Dean and Cas watched them go with an odd sense of contentment that Claire and Jack were getting along so well… and complete and utter dread that they were getting along so _well._ Dean turned to Cas once the group disappeared into the hallway – most likely to use Jack’s powers to change all of the alcohol in the bunker into water or some ironic shit like that – sharing an amused look with his new husband.

“Should I go fetch the fire extinguisher?”

* * *

The library had been converted into a temporary dining room for the reception. The long wooden table had a pristine white cloth draped over it, along with a few candles in silver holders being placed along the middle. Sam had dragged out a few chairs from storage, given them a quick dusting and varnishing to breathe new life into them, and situated them along the table.

They had been eating for around twenty minutes at this point, nearly everyone having finished their meal. Dean was watching Garth attempt to clean the mess of blood from the twin’s face (from the raw steaks they had served for Garth and his family), when Sam stood from his chair and clinked a knife to his glass, damn near shattering the thin glass with his strong hits.

The small conversations people had fallen into tapered off, the room falling into an expectant silence as all eyes turned to Sam. Sam cleared his throat, placing the knife back down on the table but keeping the glass of champagne in his hand as he addressed the room with his best man’s speech.

“Hey, so, uh… I just wanna say thank you to everyone for being here. I know that you’re all here because you want to support these two guys here on what will be one of the most important days of their lives, and having you all here will be part of why this night will be so memorable. So-,” Sam paused, raising his drink in the air. “-Cheers to all of you,”

“Cheers!” Rang around the table as everyone lifted their glasses into the air, before taking a swig of their drink.

“And, of course, cheers to the couple in question,” Sam said, turning to face both his brother and Cas. “I know I like to tease you guys a lot, since… it’s kind of a part of being the annoying little brother, I suppose. But I don’t think I have the words to say just how happy I am for you two. And Cas – I can’t thank you enough. Not only for how you’ve been there for both of us, through thick-and-thin, one apocalypse after the other, but for just how happy you make my brother. I’ve never seen Dean look so at peace than when he’s with you, and as much as my role as Dean’s brother is to annoy the hell out of him, it’s also to make sure that you’re happy. Now that you’ve got Cas? I don’t have to worry about that.”

Sam raised his glass once more, this time in their direction, fighting back tears at the misty-eyed looks he got from both Dean and Cas. “To Dean and Castiel Winchester!”

“To Dean and Castiel Winchester!” Everyone parroted.

Dean had been expecting for Sam to sit back down after his speech, or perhaps even walk over to wrap them both up in hugs. To his surprise, Sam remained standing, shooting him much too of a mischievous grin for Dean’s liking.

“One last thing,” Sam added. “Dean… I thought that tonight, I’d try and turn the cards on you and give you a surprise of my own. For _months_ , I was stumped on what gift to get you. I felt like, as both your brother and best man, it had to be something _meaningful._ That’s when I remembered a little story Cas told me.

“For those of you that don’t know it, Cas had to spend some time up in Dean’s head. What _I_ didn’t know was that every night, Dean was spending time with Cas in his dreams. Dean has a kind of special marking on his arm, in the form of a handprint. Specifically, Cas’s handprint. During one of these dreams, Dean told Cas that he wished Cas had a mark, too. Something of his to wear on Cas’s skin. And that’s when the plan came to my mind. But, for the plan to work, it all fell down onto one requirement – Dean needed to be an asshole.”

The glare Dean sent his brother’s way didn’t quite have the heat to it that he wanted, considering his cheeks quickly reddened at the knowing laughter that spread across the table.

“Thankfully, Dean completed that requirement pretty quickly,” Sam said with a playful grin. “Do you remember, Dean, a few months ago, when I told you I was trying a new hobby? I had gotten everything set up, too; the canvas, the paints, the easel, _everything._ You waltzed right into my room, asked me what I was doing, and as soon as I began explaining that I wanted to take up painting… you stuck your hand straight into the paints and planted your paint-covered hand onto the canvas.

“You left the room laughing that day, and it had never been harder for me to be mock angry with you, when in reality I wanted to cheer and celebrate a mission well done. I went to Cas immediately after and told him my idea. Cas fell in love with it, and… here we are.”

Dean turned his suspicious glare towards Cas, who could only shrug in false innocence at the accusation being pointed towards him.

“A few days ago, I told you I was taking Cas to the tattoo shop to get a devil’s trap tattooed on,” Sam said. “That was partly true – he did get the devil’s trap, don’t worry, Dean. What we _didn’t_ tell you was that we got another piece commissioned, too. Cas? You wanna show him?”

Dean tore his eyes away from Sam’s barely contained glee, turning to Cas with eyebrows raised in anticipation. He watched as Cas began meticulously rolling up the sleeve of his left arm, pushing the shirt up further and further until Dean could see-

A handprint. Right there on his shoulder, the _exact_ same place where Castiel’s handprint was on _his_ shoulder, was a very detailed, very realistic looking scar of a handprint. And not just any handprint – _his_ handprint.

“There’s been a reason I’ve been wearing long-sleeved shirts,” Castiel told him. “You did say you wanted your own ‘Property of Dean Winchester’ sign.”

“You…” Was all Dean could get out before his body took over, standing up from his chair and reaching out a hand to place it over the handprint. Castiel winced at the contact, since the tattoo was still fresh and raw, but didn’t shy away from Dean’s touch. Dean could only marvel at the way his hand perfectly fit over the mark, proving that it truly was _his_ handprint. “You didn’t have to do this, Cas…”

“I know,” Castiel replies, a warm smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I wanted to.”

Dean turned to his brother, shuffling past a few chairs to pull him into his arms with a few choked words. “Good job, brother,”

“Glad you like it,” Sam replied, thumping him on his back before pulling away from the hug. “Was kinda worried you’d figure out what was going on when you left the handprint on the canvas.”

“Nah, you didn’t have to worry about that,” Dean said. “I was too caught up on a job well done of ticking you off.”

* * *

It’s approaching sunrise by the time the last of the guests had left. The library had been converted once _again_ shortly after dinner at Garth’s demands to create a dance floor – which everyone quickly agreed to on account of the booze flowing through their veins. Dean and Cas were all but content to watch everyone make a fool of themselves on the dance floor, smiles wide with pride as Claire manages to drag Jack onto the dance floor to join her and Kaia.

There was one stipulation Dean had, though; he refused to have his first dance with Cas in front of everyone else. Not because he’s scared of how everyone will judge him for his dancing skills (okay, maybe a _little_ of that), but because… he wanted that moment to be between just him, and Cas.

Cas looked _exhausted_ , and Dean couldn’t blame him one bit. If he was in the same boat as he was, then he didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, either. His hair was all ruffled from one too many drunken affectionate rubs from Sam, his bowtie undone and hanging loose around his neck, staring out into the dimly lit library from his seat with half-asleep eyes.

He looked just as stunning as when he walked up the aisle.

“Hey, angel,” Dean says as he stands in front of him, holding out a hand for him to take. “Care for a dance?”

Despite how tired Cas looked, his eyes still lit up at Dean’s request. Dean smiled tenderly at him as Cas’s hand fit snuggling into his own, leading him towards the center of the room. Their hands remained clasped, hanging loosely to their sides as the two swayed on the spot. It probably looked ridiculous considering there was no music playing, but neither of them cared much. They didn’t need the music.

Dean let his eyelids fall closed as Cas’s head rested against his, brushing his thumb against the cool metal ring wrapped around Cas’s ring finger. “Step three, Cas,” Dean whispered against his lips, squeezing Cas’s hand in his.

“Step three,” Castiel repeated gently. “So… what’s next?”

Dean opened his eyes back up, looking to Cas with a small smile before leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips. “We’ve got the whole rest of our lives to figure out ‘what’s next’, Cas. Whatever that may be… wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

* * *

As it turns out, life _does_ go by fast when you’re not fighting for it every damn day.

One of the benefits to living in the bunker was the lack of bills. Not having to pay rent, or mortgage, or electricity, gas, water, heating, Internet, and more bills than he’s probably aware of meant that, between the two, their savings account built up surprisingly quick. Dean had more money on his account than he had ever had on his _life_ , and before long, another little (by which he means huge) idea popped into his head.

He didn’t bring up the idea to Cas until about a year after they were married. Mostly due to one huge piece of news from Sam that Eileen was pregnant.

Well, the news didn’t technically come from Sam. Dean had overheard them talking about it one night, trying to find a way to bring up to him and Cas that Sam was planning to go back to Stanford to finish up his law degree. Made sense; having a well-paying job with a steady income was a better way to go about raising a kid than in the bunker.

So, on the day Sam and Eileen finally gathered up the courage to announce the pregnancy and upcoming move, he and Cas were able to one-up them by showing them the deeds to a little property up in Oregon.

The house was fixer-upper for sure and led to many an argument between them. But that was okay. They had gotten pretty good at recovering from arguments after all this time. No matter how big of a falling out, it was typically the very next day that one of them would have cooled off and be bringing some kind of peace offering (typically a slice of pie from that fantastic family-run bakery for Dean, and a jar of this organic, way too expensive but it makes him happy, honey for Cas).

Besides, Dean could see the true beauty the house held the first time he saw the listing. It was practically crumbling apart, its wooden sidings rotting with what was once likely a beautiful blue paint now discolored and peeling away. But the house itself was set upon a beautiful lake within a patch of woods, not too far away from the nearby town that they were “in the middle of nowhere”, but enough so that they were away from prying eyes of the stereotypical American neighborhood.

There was even a little wooden dock practically on their backyard, where the two of them sat many a time, enjoying the warm summer evenings. Miracle especially liked the dock for diving into the water – typically whilst Dean was fishing, scaring any nearby fish away and pretty much ruining any chance of him getting a catch.

They had just finished the last restorations on the home when Eileen and Sam welcomed their son into the world. Dean thought he'd be pretty good at keeping it together, but the damn kid looked so much like Sammy did when he was a baby that he had to hand Dean Jr over to Cas when his vision became too filled with tears to see.

Getting to watch that kid grow was one of the best parts of the summers. It was their tradition; every summer vacation, Sam and Eileen would drop Dean Jr off at theirs to spend the _entirety_ of the summer. Being the ‘cool uncle’ meant that the kid wanted to do everything that Dean did, leading to many evenings out at the garage shop, keeping the kid up much too late into the night as he teaches him everything he knows.

Life was good. Better than good, actually. Especially when, if you asked twenty year old Dean where he thought he’d be twenty years on, his answer would be “as a pile of ashes for the past twenty years.”

And he had genuinely believed that. Every day waking up in the hunter's life, he had wondered if it would be his last. Could you blame him? Too many risks, too many opportunities for something to go wrong.

It was funny that, as he got older, his view on death changed.

Back then, on that terrible day, left skewered like a kebab, the concept of death scared him. And it wasn’t like that was particularly a _new_ thing. Sure, he had long since accepted that he was going to die young and bloody, but that didn’t make the idea or the lights going out forever terrifying.

He had actually realized that day that he _wasn’t_ ready to accept it. After all that had happened, it had felt like something in their lives had changed. Dying that way... it didn’t seem _fair._ He felt like he deserved a chance to live the life he never got to, that he had so many years ahead of him to look forward to, and it was all just... taken away from him.

Now, nearly forty years after that day... he sees death differently. He’s _lived_ that life, and lived it well. He's tired, both in body and mind, and whilst the first half of his life was filled with pain, misery, and the occasional good moment, the last half of his life and been filled with nothing but happiness; of family and love.

He could still vividly remember the day they had to put Miracle down. She had been slowing down for a while, the gray in her muzzle spreading more and more, her eyes getting cloudier and cloudier. Even though he knew she was at that point where her life was more pain than happiness, that she would be going someplace much better... it was hard to let go. He supposed he wasn’t exactly mourning on her behalf, for her loss, but for the way her loss would impact _their_ life.

It had been that evening, as Cas tearfully began collecting her bed and chew toys to put away in storage, that Dean truly began to take notice of the gray that had begun sneaking through his hair. They were getting older, there was no doubt about that. He had had the thought, perhaps a little morbid, about which one of them would go first.

Dean had bet on himself for that one. For one, Cas was technically younger than him, physically. Two, Jimmy took care of his body _much_ better than Dean had. Sure, hunting keeps you physically fit, but all those fights, and being thrown against walls, tend to take their toll on the human body. Perhaps the drink would catch up to him - all those years drowning his liver in toxins. Hell, maybe he'd even clog an artery after countless takeouts and greasy diner foods.

He lost the bet.

It had happened on one of their daily morning walks.

It had been a beautiful day, all things considered. The November frost that covered the fallen leaves had only just begun to melt under the early morning sunrise, making their already slow walk all that much slower.

The walks had become more and more difficult the past few months. For the both of them, in fact. His wrinkled hands seem to shake atop his cane with every step – something he never thought he’d say in his youth; he had a damn cane – and every step they took was cautious and calculated, considering the fact that one wrong step, one small fall, would more than likely result in something being broken.

But it was Cas who seemed to be struggling that little bit more. It was Cas who had a harder time catching his breath, sucking in deep lungful’s of air like he couldn’t quite get enough. It was Cas who, just as they were stepping off the small sandy shore of the lake and rounding towards home, suddenly collapsed to his knees onto the cold ground as he held onto Dean.

And that’s when Dean knew it was time.

It was his heart, believe it or not. Not an angel blade through the chest, or a Vamp’s teeth sinking into his throat, or a Were’s claws ripping him open. His heart was simply too old. Too tired. It was failing – and it was the best type of death either of them could have asked for.

Cas passes away peacefully one late evening that same November, propped up in a comfortable hospital bed, surrounded by those who love him. There’s no fear in his eyes as goes, no overwhelming panic that has him tugging out the cannula in his nose, no pain – the drugs the doctors had pumping into him through his IV line made sure of that. He just smiles up at them with tired eyes as a frazzled, gray-haired Sam Winchester keeps a hand on his best friends’ arm, the other wrapped around a similarly frail-looking Eileen and their not so young son, anymore.

And then, just before he goes… Castiel’s gaze fixates on one person. He only has eyes for his husband by his side, staring into emerald green eyes that remained as young as the Dean Winchester he fell in love with. Dean’s brittle fingers were intertwined with Cas’s as he struggled through his last breaths, squeezing Cas’s hand as tightly as his old bones would let him.

“It’s okay, Cas. We did it. We made it…” Dean rasps down to him, leaning forward to place one last shaky kiss on his husband's head as Castiel’s eyes begin to droop, the machine by his head blaring and beeping numbers that Dean ignores. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll be right behind you.”

Dean follows him no more than two weeks later.

Castiel had only just begun settling into Heaven when Dean arrived.

Dean had woken up from his ‘endless sleep’, a smile of relief playing across his face as he took in the familiar sights around him. He was _home._ Right there in front of him stood the house they had made with blood, sweat, and tears. Every little detail that made it _theirs;_ from the small scratches in the wood where Miracle had been digging at the ground below to the tiny crack in the attic window where Dean Jr had ‘wanted to test how high he could throw a football’.

He didn’t even bother knocking on the door. He already knew where Cas was.

Walking around the side of the house, towards the lake, is where he spotted Cas. Cas was waiting, stood at the end of the dock with a damn _fishing rod_ in hand, looking as young as he was when he was brought back to life. Dean would like to think that he kept a respectable pace as he moved towards Cas, but in reality, he knows he all but sprinted to him.

The second he was within reach, he knocked the stupid damn fishing pole out of Cas’s hands and threw his arms around him, grateful for the way his trick knee no longer ached with the movement. Cas dropped the fishing pole without a second thought, returning the tight hold Dean had on him with a bemused chuckle. “Dean, it’s only been two weeks.”

“That’s two weeks too long,” Dean replies, meaning it full-heartedly. “Told you I’d follow you, didn’t I?”

“Your mother stopped by,” Castiel tells him as he pulls away from Dean’s embrace. “They have a big surprise party waiting for you at the roadhouse.”

“I think you kinda ruined the surprise there, Cas,” Dean said, taking a seat on the edge of the dock and let his feet dangle over the water, holding out a hand for Cas to join him.

“I think I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime,” Castiel said, accepting Dean’s offer and dropping down next to him. “I would have thought you’d want to visit them straight away?”

Dean smiled at that, looking away from the stillness of the lake to his husband. “We’ve got a lot of time for that, Cas. Besides, I wanna start enjoying Step Four.”

Dean wrapped an arm around Cas, tugging him towards him until Cas was leaning against his side, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. Castiel closed his eyes in content, letting the warmth of Heaven’s sun wash over his face whilst the warmth of Dean soaked into his side. “What’s Step Four?”

“Kinda obvious, isn’t it?” Dean asked. “Enjoy the rest of eternity with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... here we are folks.  
> I can only hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. It's been one hell of a journey, I'll tell you that.  
> I can also only hope that you actually enjoyed this ending. I kinda get the feeling some people won't? Which is fine, each to their own accord. All I can tell you is that I tried my best to write out an ending that feels right whilst linking into the canon finale, at least to me.  
> You might have noticed that I sort of set up a few sort of scenarios of domestic!destiel after they get married? I kinda had some ideas of like, mini snippets of their lives after, expanding on the different scenarios and what not. Whether to upload it with this fic or as a sequel of sorts, idk. But if that's something you guys are interested in, have requests on those scenarios, or even desitel requests not related to this fic, leave a comment here or send me a message on my tumblr "Chipper9906".
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
